


the art of lying

by spibsy (lucy_and_ramona)



Category: Professional Wrestling
Genre: Canon-Typical Ableism, Canon-Typical Violence, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-17 22:47:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 52,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2325926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucy_and_ramona/pseuds/spibsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roman's heart has never been as strong as his body. It's what makes him pull out his phone to text Seth even though he shouldn't still have Seth's number. He shouldn't still have Seth's anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the art of lying

**Author's Note:**

> BOY this got out of hand. i started this a while ago and it's been a roller coaster from start to finish. this is the seth/roman texting fic i've been mentioning for a while, and it's finally done. all the people in my inbox who were asking how this one's going. good! is the answer to that. thanks and forever adoration to damien as always, and thank you to lilo as well for being excellent ♥

Roman is angry. It seems like he spends most of his time angry, these days.

He used to be so much better at controlling it. He knows Seth’s whole spiel was bullshit – Seth wasn’t the one who kept Roman calm – but some days he wonders if there wasn’t something about Seth being around that made it… easier, at least. Less of a challenge to force the anger down to a low simmer, to use it on his opponents rather than himself.

The Authority is out of control and everybody knows it. Nobody’s stepping up to challenge them, at least nobody who can make a difference. Anyone who tried is gone or has no power. CM Punk is gone. Daniel Bryan is gone. The Shield… The Shield’s gone, too.

It feels so hopeless now. Roman hasn’t stopped trying, and he knows Dean will only stop when he’s dead. Sometimes Roman worries that’ll come sooner than later, if he keeps pushing himself like he is.

“You need to get your shoulder checked out,” Roman says quietly, watching Dean pace back and forth. He’s angry, too. All they are is angry, all they have is anger. Roman remembers when that wasn’t what drove them, but he can’t quite place what it was instead. Determination. Partnership.

Some days he wonders if he isn’t more angry with Seth than Dean is.

“My shoulder’s fine,” Dean says. His words are choppy, cut off, annoyed. “I had him. I had him, he was _right fucking there, Roman_ , I had him.”

“I know you did,” says Roman. He wants to put a hand on Dean’s arm, but he’s not sure anymore that Dean wouldn’t just bite it off, when he’s like this. “I know. He’s slippery, always has been.”

“I hate him,” Dean replies, whirling to pace the length of the room again. “I hate him, I hate him, I want to get my hands around his throat, I want him dead.”

Roman sighs. He usually just lets Dean get this out of his system, but it’s late and they need to get back to the hotel and, more importantly, Dean’s shoulder isn’t fine. It’s been wrapped for more than a month now, and Dean meticulously changes the bandages himself. He won’t let Roman help. He doesn’t let Roman help anymore.

“I should’ve gone out there,” he says. That at least gets Dean to stop pacing, and he drops down next to Roman with a scoff.

“I told you not to,” Dean says. “Don’t start that shit again. I told you not to go out there. If you had, I woulda punched you myself.”

“We said we’d stick together.” They haven’t talked about this, and maybe they still shouldn’t, maybe this is just how it has to be from now on, but Roman misses having Dean’s back. He misses going to hell and back just to make sure Dean’s okay. “This is killing me. Watching you get hurt when I know I could go out there and stop it.”

“You should be focusing on your shit. Not mine.” Dean shuffles close enough to lean his head on Roman’s shoulder and he breathes out, heavily. Roman slings an arm around his waist and doesn’t tell Dean that he misses when Dean’s problems were Roman’s problems. He misses a lot of things. It’s no use living in the past.

“Get your shoulder checked out,” Roman urges gently. Dean scoffs again, but he’s softer like this, easier to convince when Roman can remind him that he’s human. Not a rabid animal like they keep saying he is. “I’ll be waiting here, okay?”

“Fine,” Dean groans. “They’re just gonna tell me to rest it, though, and I’m still not gonna.”

“You never do. Maybe if you did, you’d be able to walk without flinching.” Roman laughs when Dean flips him off over his shoulder, slipping through the door. He’s in more pain than he lets on. Near constant, actually, and Roman knows because he knows Dean.

He gets it, he does. Dean doesn’t trust easy now. Neither does Roman. Maybe this is Dean’s way of distancing himself before Roman can do it for him, but Roman won’t. As far as he’s concerned, it’s him and Dean against the world, still, no matter what his t-shirts say.

But Dean’s in so much pain all the time, never letting his shoulder heal, which means the bandages are an instant target for all of his opponents, and they make it worse every match he has.

Maybe it’s the combination that does it. Roman feels, at once, very alone and very angry, and that’s never a good duo.

He takes out his phone and before he can think that this might be a bad idea, he’s texting a number that really shouldn’t be in his phone anymore. He’d watched as Dean deleted it from his, making a note to do it on his own later, and he never had.

**hope you’re happy.**

Roman doesn’t even know how he means it, does he? That’s the worst part, that’s the real kicker here, is that Seth did such a good job pretending he cared but Roman wasn’t pretending for a damn second, and he loves Seth just as much as he always did, and he wants Seth to be happy. If Seth wanted to leave, if that would’ve made him happy, Roman would’ve helped him pack his bags.

He didn’t have to hit anyone with a chair. But he did, and now they’re here.

He hopes Seth’s happy.

Roman’s not expecting a text back, already regretting sending it in the first place, but his phone buzzes in three sharp bursts not five minutes later.

**Very. Thanks. You still have my #?**

Roman frowns at the phone. He shouldn’t reply. He shouldn’t have sent the first one. He hasn’t even talked to Seth in… so long. Dean’s the one who talks to Seth, and Roman doesn’t know if you could call those conversations.

Fuck.

**you still have mine.**

He shoves his phone away. This is stupid. He shouldn’t have done this. Even Seth being an asshole to him has made his stomach clench, a hot stone dropped right in the pit of it. He misses Seth. He’d known – he’s known since the first day in almost two years he didn’t talk to Seth, the day after it happened, when Dean still looked lost instead of pissed and they’d thought, maybe it was just a misunderstanding, maybe he has a plan. 

Seth had a plan. They just weren’t part of it.

His phone vibrates and Roman takes it out of his pocket without thinking, opening the message. He mutters to himself even as he reads it, annoyed that he’s giving Seth the time of day.

**Fair. What’s on your mind then? I was beginning to think you didn’t like me anymore :(**

The frowny face tips it over the edge. Roman pushes his phone into his pocket again without replying. That’s it. He never should’ve opened that box, shouldn’t have given Seth the opportunity to push through the door. It stops here.

His phone vibrates again when he’s in the trainer’s room checking to make sure Dean’s actually gone where he said he was going to go, and a third time when he’s collected Dean, freshly bandaged and freshly annoyed, and they’re driving back to the hotel.

“I could’ve driven,” Dean mutters, his fingers clenching hard on the bag of ice he’s holding to his shoulder. The verdict was the same as it’s been: Dean needs to slow down, ice his injury, and stop fucking dislocating his shoulder all the goddamn time.

They might not have worded it like that, but Roman thinks they should’ve. Not that it would’ve helped. Dean still won’t listen.

“I don’t trust you behind a wheel when you’ve got two working arms, Ambrose.” Roman ignores the weight of his phone in the pocket of his jacket. It’s not important. When he gets back to the room, as soon as he gets a minute to himself, he’s going to delete them without even reading them.

“Hey, who’s the one that totaled the Camaro in January, huh?” Dean asks, sitting up straighter. Roman has a hard time not smiling, hearing that righteous indignation in Dean’s voice. It’s better than petulance or fury, at least. “’Cause I remember pretty well, and I’m _pretty_ sure it wasn’t me.”

“You’re remembering wrong,” says Roman loftily. “Must be all those knocks to the head.”

Roman remembers too late who it is that’s been giving Dean all those knocks to the head. Thankfully, Dean doesn’t seem to be too preoccupied with it.

“Look, I’m just saying, you’ve crashed one and I’ve crashed zero, so suck my dick.” Dean rolls his shoulder, and Roman wants to ask him how he can do that, how he can just word it so that it doesn’t matter that they’ve crashed two cars and Seth was behind the wheel of the second one, ages ago, last May.

“No thanks,” Roman replies, parking. He’d offer to grab Dean’s bag for him, but he’s pretty sure he’d get his fingers bitten off, so he refrains. “I don’t know where that’s been.”

Dean laughs, rivulets of melted water dripping down his arm while he fumbles to keep the ice pack on and get his bag at the same time. “You say that like I don’t spend every waking minute with you, anyway.”

“Man, even I lose track of you sometimes.” Roman rests a hand on Dean’s good shoulder while they make their way into the hotel. He likes to have that, the contact. It reminds him that he’s still got one brother even if the other one’s left home.

Their room is blissfully quiet and cool, and Roman breathes a sigh of relief to be out of the heat. He can take it – he grew up in Florida, this kind of humidity is like coming home to him – but that doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate the hum of a working air-conditioner.

“I’m takin’ a shower,” Dean announces, dropping his ice pack onto the bed he designated as his own. Later he’ll complain about the big cold wet spot it left and he’ll try to convince Roman that it’s his fault somehow, and Roman should totally switch beds with him.

“Get more ice for your shoulder after,” Roman calls before the bathroom door closes, already knowing that Dean won’t. It’s not in his nature to take care of himself any longer than he has to, which is why Roman takes it upon himself to do it when Dean won’t.

He waits until he can hear the shower running to pull out his phone, and he’s ready to delete without reading, fully planning on it, but… It’s Seth. Maybe he doesn’t owe Seth anything anymore, but part of him will always feel like he owes Seth everything.

**Come on Roman don’t be like that.**

**How’s Dean?**

There’s fire in Roman’s veins. He doesn’t even realize that he’s texting back until the notification is telling him it’s sent.

**don’t pretend like you care**

He sends another, because _how dare Seth_ , honestly. How dare he? How dare he act like he has any right to know how Dean is? Even if he’s being sarcastic, and he probably is, Roman wants to punch him so hard his briefcase feels it.

**you don’t get to know him anymore**

Seth doesn’t reply so quickly this time. Roman hopes, even though he knows it’s futile, that Seth will just decide not to reply at all.

His phone vibrates again while the shower’s still running.

**Does that mean I still get to know you?**

Roman practically throws his phone. The worst thing is that he doesn’t know. He just doesn’t know. He knows that he should know – knows that he should tell Seth to fuck off, maybe threaten him a little, delete his number. Why can Dean do this and he can’t? What’s wrong with him?

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he turns his phone off and sets it on his bedside table, and gets ready for bed.

He’s not shocked when Dean grumbles over the wet spot on his bed, and he’s not shocked when Dean, smelling clean, shower-warm, shuffles into Roman’s bed, nudging him until he moves over and resting the damp top of his head against Roman’s spine. Sometimes, Dean needs this. Sometimes, Roman does, too.

“If I ask you something, are you gonna punch me?” Roman asks, tucking his foot back to nudge Dean’s, the dark quietness making him bold.

Dean shifts behind him. “Prob’ly. What is it?” He sounds tired. Roman gives a thought to just letting him sleep, letting it go, but he’s going to ask Dean eventually, and it might as well be when Dean’s got less defenses up. And this way, Roman doesn’t have to look him in the eye.

“How do you do it?” Roman asks, and his voice is so quiet he can hardly hear himself. Dean moves closer to listen, a hand on Roman’s hip, his chest against Roman’s back. “How do you hate him?”

He doesn’t need to name who he’s talking about. They both know. Roman can tell from the way Dean tenses, automatically, before relaxing. He doesn’t answer right away, but Roman wasn’t expecting him to.

“Don’t,” Dean says, finally. He sounds reluctant. “Just fake it until you convince yourself you do.”

Roman takes that in. He thinks about the look on Dean’s face whenever he’s in the ring with Seth, how he’s been insisting he can do everything by himself but he still crawls into Roman’s bed whenever he can manage an excuse to, how his expression had collapsed that first time Seth called them business partners instead of brothers.

“Have you convinced yourself yet?” Roman asks. He already knows the answer, lifting his hand to cover the one Dean has on his waist. He thinks he was wrong, maybe, when he’d thought that Dean was more distant now. Nothing with Dean is ever that simple, but Seth was always the one who could read him best.

Dean laughs, tucking it against Roman’s back. “I can’t even manage to convince you.”

Roman doesn’t say anything, and then he turns over, so that he can look at Dean. Dean grumbles, but he moves back to make room for him, watching Roman with obvious caution on his face. He’s cast in shadows and the city lights from the windows, and the ends of his hair are still damp against the side of his neck.

“I can’t hate him, either,” he says. It sounds like a confession, and it might be one. “Should. I can’t do it.”

“Maybe he was bankin’ on that.” Dean relaxes now that he knows Roman’s not going to – what would Roman do? He’s seen how Dean is with Seth, it’s how he’s always been. It’s all-consuming, the way they can be with each other. If anyone gets a pass for not being able to hate Seth completely, it’s Dean.

Roman doesn’t know what his excuse is.

“Doesn’t seem to have helped him out much, does it?” Roman asks. He props his head up on his hand. His phone, on the bedside table, is a thing he can sense. He wonders if Seth’s texted him again. It doesn’t matter. “Not like caring about people’s ever kept you from kicking their ass.”

“Hell, I’ll kick your ass.” Dean kicks out at Roman, lightly, nudging Roman’s calf with his toes. “I’ll kick your ass right now, don’t think I won’t.”

Roman probably deserves it. “I,” he says, but he can’t, he can’t say out loud that he texted Seth, that he’s not as strong as Dean and can’t even delete one stupid number from his phone. “I wish things were different,” he says instead.

Dean huffs, dragging the duvet up over his head. When he speaks next, his voice is muffled. “Yeah, join the fucking club.”

He kicks in his sleep, and whenever he spends the night in Roman’s bed, Roman wakes up with bruised shins, but he’s still there, which is more than Roman can say for other people.

Speak of the devil, when Roman turns on his phone while he’s brushing his teeth, he has a text from his mom and three from Seth. He doesn’t know what it says about him that he reads the ones from Seth first.

**You still there? Is that supposed to be an answer?**

**You’re really just leaving me hanging?**

**I miss you.**

Roman stares at that message longer than the others. It shouldn’t mean anything. He’s been telling himself since he sent the first text that it shouldn’t mean anything, but that doesn’t change the fact that it does. He’s kidding himself if he tries to say it doesn’t.

He checks the time on his phone and then the time Seth sent that last message. Half an hour ago. He types back with one hand still on his toothbrush.

**shouldn’t have hit me with the fucking chair then**

He exits out of the conversation in case Dean pops into the bathroom while Roman’s in the shower, and he tries to drown out the conflicting thoughts in his head with water so hot it hurts.

There are two new messages after Roman’s dried off and gotten dressed, and he gives half a thought to ignoring them, but he’s already in this too far, and he knows that. There’s no way this ends well. He flicks open the conversation.

**You’re still hung up on that?**

**Joking. Does it help or hurt that I honestly only hit you first because I knew you’d help him?**

Roman stares. He stares for so long that Dean hammers on the door and demands for Roman to quit fucking with his hair so Dean can shave, and then he sends three words back before he opens the bathroom door.

**go fuck yourself**

“I texted Seth,” he says, while Dean is mid-complaint. Dean stops what he’s saying immediately, staring at Roman like he must have heard wrong. “Yesterday,” he says quietly. “I didn’t mean to. It just kind of happened.”

Dean stares at him like Roman had been staring at his phone. His throat bobs when he swallows, and then he clears his throat. “What did…” He coughs. “What’d he have to say?”

“Nothing fucking important,” Roman says bluntly, shoving his phone away. He shakes his head, ducking around Dean to let him have the bathroom. 

“Hey,” says Dean. He hasn’t moved from where he was, still lingering in the doorway with a hand on the frame. “I gotta worry about you?”

He looks pale. Roman doesn’t know if he’s asking if he needs to worry about Roman taking care of himself, or if he needs to worry about Roman pulling a Seth. Either way, his answer’s the same.

“No,” he says. It’s firm, solid, and Dean’s shoulders relax a little. “If there’s one thing I can promise you, it’s that I won’t ever do what he did, okay? We clear?”

Dean swallows again – his throat must be dry – and then he nods. It’s barely there, but it’s an acknowledgement at least. “I trust you,” Dean says, and Roman knows how big of a deal that is. “Don’t… don’t, okay?”

“I won’t. I wouldn’t. You know I wouldn’t.” Roman doesn’t break eye contact. This is important, this honesty. He and Dean need honesty.

“I knew Seth wouldn’t, too.” Dean’s mouth quirks up into a smile. “From behind’s not really your style, though, is it? I need to teach you how to be sneaky.”

“Aw, man, you know I’d be terrible at it. I don’t have the finesse.” Roman smiles back at him, and Dean’s talking away, even while he has a toothbrush in his mouth, a mumble here and a shout there. Roman knows better than to think Dean’s perfectly fine now, but he can let him pretend at least. Roman knows a lot about pretending to be fine.

While he’s waiting for Dean to get ready, he opens up his contact list and deletes Seth’s number. While he’s at it, he deletes their whole conversation, including the new message Seth’s sent. Unread. 

Roman’s not going to waste his time on someone who honestly, probably never gave a damn about him in the first place. It was wishful thinking to pretend like Seth might’ve cared.

 _I miss you_. Roman doesn’t have time for liars and conmen.

Of course, that’s not the end of it. That’d be too simple.

Seth texts him a few more times that day, and Roman wishes he could delete his own number from Seth’s phone. He doesn’t read any of them, deletes all of them right away. Seth doesn’t send anymore after that first day, probably got bored when Roman didn’t give him anything to laugh about with his Authority buddies.

Roman gets an easy, Seth-free few days, and then he wakes up one morning to find he has not one message from a number he still recognizes without the name set to it (he knows both Seth and Dean’s cell numbers by heart, in case of emergencies) but six, six messages and a missed call. There’s not a voicemail. He should delete all of it.

But when he first wakes up, he’s stupid and tired and terrible, so he opens the first message without thinking, and it snowballs from there.

**Still miss you**

**Why are you ignoring me?**

**I take it back what I said to make you mad**

**Can you tell Dean to stop calling HHH my sugar daddy he’s starting to look at me weird**

**Nvm he’ll just do it more don’t tell him**

**If I told you I still considered you my brother you wouldn’t believe me would you**

Roman rolls his eyes and checks his missed call. It’s from late last night, four in the morning, late enough that Seth had to have known that he wouldn’t answer.

 **No** , he sends, without even thinking about it. He looks at his thumbs like they betrayed him when he realizes, but thirty seconds later Seth’s texted him back and he doesn’t have time to be angry with his thumbs.

**Don’t blame you but that doesn’t make it less true**

Well, apparently he’s doing this now. Roman sits up in bed, shoving his hair back out of his face. 

**what happened to “business partners”?** Roman thinks the quotes are a pretty nice touch. After all, he knows, and Dean knows, they know that all that shit about Seth never caring about them was, mostly, shit. 

He’s not expecting Seth to actually say that, though, so when he gets a response saying **You know I didn’t mean that** , he’s a little surprised.

Not that surprised. Seth’s obviously angling for something here, and he wants Roman to be willing to talk to him again. There’s some sort of scheme in the works here and Roman won’t fall for it.

 **do i?** he replies, and then he swings his legs out of bed. He needs to be doing something, something with his hands, so that he doesn’t send another text, so that he doesn’t tell Seth _Part of me still believes you would never lie to me_.

Seth replies while he’s making eggs. **You’ve always been able to tell when I’m lying.**

Roman wonders if he should change his number.

**obviously not as well as i thought i could**

What’s Seth doing right now? Why is he always around when Roman’s texting him? Shouldn’t he have evil plans to be getting on with, fancy suits to try on or asses to kiss? How is he making time for Roman?

Seth’s response is prompt as ever. **You know me. Better than anyone else. I miss you. Am I lying?**

He’s not.

He is – has to be – but Roman’s gut tells him that Seth’s not lying. Of course, Seth’s probably not telling the whole truth, either, and Roman’s an idiot to give him even that much credit, but he believes him. It’s got to be lonely on the other side. He hopes Seth’s golden ticket is worth having to pretend he actually likes Randy Orton.

Roman replies **it doesn’t matter** and goes upstairs to change for his morning run. He leaves his phone at home.

Not that it matters much when he checks it the second he gets back. He tells himself that it’s so that he can see if work’s called, but he knows that’s not true. He can’t fool himself. He wishes he could.

**Of course it matters how could it not matter?**

And then: **Are you ignoring me again?**

Roman texts back, because he’s not going to bother even pretending anymore, and says, **we’re not friends and if i never want to speak to you again you’ll just have to deal with that.**

He hopes Seth believes that. Maybe he’s a more convincing liar through text. He has no doubt that someday, whether it’s tomorrow (unlikely) or years from now, the Shield will be the Shield again. It might be naivety, but Roman refuses to let that be the end of it. Being in the Shield had felt like coming home. He’s moved away, now, been thrown out of his home, but he will come back to it sooner or later. Seth Rollins is not going to be the reason he’s homeless.

Seth’s reply is appropriately placating. **Ok I get it I won’t push. I do miss you though. I need you to know that.**

 **why** Roman sends so quickly that it autocorrects to _howdy_ before he notices and fixes it. He doesn’t even know when he would’ve used the word _howdy_.

It takes Seth longer to reply this time. Maybe he’s thinking about what he’s going to say, and maybe he’s just doing something else. Either way, it’s half an hour and another shower later before Seth replies.

**How would you feel if someone you loved thought you never gave a shit about them?**

Roman swallows. Then he swallows again. Then, he goes downstairs and gets a glass of water, and he drinks the whole thing in one go. It doesn’t really help, just sloshes in his stomach, unsettled as the rest of him.

 **loved?** he sends. He’s positive that’s the wrong thing to send, but he doesn’t know what else to say, not when Seth knows exactly how to get Roman right where he wants him. If this is a plot, some plan to get Roman to lower his guard and be blindsided, then he’ll just have to be blindsided. He’s always known he’d die for Seth. He guesses he’d still die for Seth, even if it’s Seth pulling the trigger.

Roman breathes out. He pours another glass of water, and drinks it more slowly this time. It’s cold and refreshing and it clears his head. He still wishes a little bit that it was alcoholic, but drinking at eight in the morning on a Thursday isn’t something he thinks he should start doing. When his phone buzzes, twice in immediate succession, he almost drops the glass opening the messages.

**Yeah. You’re my best friend. Were. Are.**

**I have one regret about the past few months, and it’s you. Believe that or don’t. It’s true.**

Before Roman can reply, another message comes whizzing through.

**I miss you. Am I lying?**

Roman sends back, **no.**

It feels like a betrayal the moment he sees the notification that it’s sent, like Dean will _know_ even though as far as Roman knows, Dean’s across the country, back in Vegas until Raw, and he’ll have no idea what Roman’s doing. Roman should tell him. 

He’s always prided himself on being an honest person. But he can’t go to Dean and tell him this. He can’t tell Dean that somehow, it’s not enough that Seth turned his back on them, that’s not a good enough reason for Roman to cut off contact with him. How is he supposed to say that to Dean? Dean, who has one person in the world that he trusts, and it’s Roman. 

He can’t give Dean reasons not to trust him. It’s selfish, and maybe cruel, but Roman needs Dean. For all that he can talk a big game about how it’s one versus all now, and for all that he and Dean are on different agendas, Roman needs Dean. And if he has to choose between Dean and Seth, he’ll choose Dean. Without hesitation.

(He doesn’t think about how that’s not why he’s telling Dean about this. You can’t be made to choose if one of the people who would ask you to doesn’t know he should.)

It takes Seth a long time to text back, again. He might’ve been expecting Roman to keep telling him he’s full of shit, but whether Roman’s just wishing for it to be true or not, he believes Seth when he says he misses Roman.

Of course, Seth’s a master of more than just the ring. He’s a master of verbal acrobatics. There’s a lot of ways Seth could miss Roman. He could miss having someone he knows has his back at all times. He could miss having someone who puts up with his intense workout schedule. He could miss that when he knew if he was in trouble, someone would come and save him.

Roman doubts Randy Orton would come save Seth if someone didn’t make him. Nobody ever had to tell Roman to go save Seth. It’s instinctual. Someone’s hurting little brother? It’s time to take someone’s head off.

Roman wants to believe Seth misses him as more than backup.

He wants to believe that Seth misses long car rides with Dean asleep in the backseat while Seth and Roman argue over what station to put on the radio. He wants to believe that Seth misses late night talks with some action movie playing on the TV, and neither of them are paying attention because it’s such a good conversation. He wants to believe that Seth misses sparring with Roman, teaching him things Roman never would’ve thought to learn. He wants to believe that Seth misses _him_.

Seth probably misses having backup.

Roman’s phone vibrates. He opens the text without looking, busy rubbing his temples and wishing his heart was as strong as his body.

**Can I call you?**

There’s a swooping sensation in Roman’s stomach, like hitting turbulence while both feet are on the ground, and he shakes his head even as he’s sending a message back.

**why? no**

His hands are shaking. He feels, he doesn’t know how he feels. This feels too much like he’s saying he forgives Seth, which he doesn’t, and doesn’t know if he ever will. He doesn’t think he could ever just get over what Seth’s done, not just that first night, but what he’s been doing since.

He could forgive Seth for calling _him_ his business partner, for saying that he never cared about Roman, because he knows bullshit when he hears it. He can’t forgive Seth for saying it to Dean. Not when Seth knows Dean, not when Dean let Seth in where he never let anyone else, not when Seth is the reason Dean sometimes looks at Roman like he’s waiting for the penny to drop.

Roman would never. Dean used to know that, and Roman’s pretty sure he doesn’t anymore. And that’s all Seth’s fault.

His phone buzzes.

**I miss talking to you. No forever or no for now?**

Roman doesn’t know, is the fucked up thing. Logically, he knows it should be a no forever. Seth’s proved he can’t be trusted – hell, he proved that back in March when he walked out of that tag match, no matter his reasoning at the time. Roman can’t trust him, so why bother talking to him? Why bother letting Seth pull him in with more lies?

The answer, of course, is because it’s Seth.

 **no for now** he sends back. His head is pounding. He’s pulled in eight different directions by his thoughts. Seth—but Dean—but Seth, but Roman _misses Seth so much_ but—but Dean, and Roman would sooner eat his own foot than hurt Dean again—but that’s what he’s doing now, whether Dean knows about it or not.

It’s just as much of a betrayal as it was when Seth hit Dean with a chair. Roman’s is just less violent.

So why is he even still bothering? Roman frowns at his phone. It buzzes, but he doesn’t open the message yet. Why _is_ he still bothering? There’s no point, really. He’ll never turn on Dean, and he’d hope that Seth at least knows him that well. Obviously Seth’s still willing to talk to him regardless, whether it’s because he actually doesn’t care or because he thinks he’ll be able to convince Roman otherwise. 

Maybe he should stop thinking about it so hard. If he knows – and he does – that he’ll never turn on Dean for Seth, then it doesn’t matter. He can talk to whoever, and it’s fine. He’s not in cahoots with Seth. He just misses him. He misses Seth’s sense of humor and the way his ego would sometimes get the better of him, and Roman would have to remind him he’s not a god. He misses secretly thinking Seth was kind of a god anyway.

That was his problem. Seth didn’t need Roman to deify him. He’s always done it so well on his own, and he’s fallen off the pedestal Roman put him on, and Roman’s still just as reverent as he always was.

It’s all excuses. He knows he shouldn’t be talking to Seth, and he is anyway. That’s the bottom line. 

He opens the message.

**Really? I keep expecting you to tell me to never contact you again. Not complaining!!!!!!!!**

Roman can feel a smile twitching at his lips even as he texts back. Oh, he is in trouble deep, isn’t he?

 **i should but i guess i have a soft spot for you** , he sends, and then, **don’t**. He’s not sure what he’s telling Seth not to do, but it could mean any number of things, and Seth can probably guess all of them.

He hates how good it feels to be talking to him again. He hates that he wishes Seth was here, so that Roman could talk to him face-to-face. He hates that he can’t hate Seth. At least he knows now that Dean can’t, either, but Dean’s at least trying to. Roman can’t even do that.

Seth sends, **I haven’t told anyone I’m in contact with you**. Roman’s not sure if he’s offering up information, putting himself out there in return for Roman letting the conversation continue.

“Who would you tell, Seth?” he mutters to himself. “You don’t have any friends.”

**who would you tell? orton?**

There, that’s at least phrased better than his first reaction. Not that it matters how he phrases things with Seth. They’re not friends.

Damn it. Eventually, he’ll be able to say that with conviction (or not, if Seth gets his way).

Seth’s reply is immediate.

**Fuck no. I like Ambrose more than I like him. I haven’t told HHH is what I meant**

Roman’s mouth twists. _I like Ambrose more than I like him_. Like Dean’s done anything other than return the favor with Seth. Like Seth has any right at all to be angry with Dean when he did what he did.

 **if you want me to keep talking to you you’ll keep your mouth shut about dean** he sends. He thinks for a minute. Does he even really want to know the answer to the question he’s thinking about asking? Fuck it. **why do you hate him and not me?**

Roman waits for a response.

And waits some more.

Eventually, he gets on with his day, and he does it without checking his phone a million times like he wants to. Every time it buzzes with a text, he shoves the disappointment down into his gut when it isn’t Seth.

It’s not until he’s getting ready for bed that Roman gets a reply.

**Let me know when you’re ready to talk to me through something other than texts. Then I’ll tell you.**

Immediately after that, he gets one saying: **You won’t understand and you might hate me after**

Well, that’s ominous. Roman types back slowly, thinking about what he’s saying and retyping it four times before he’s happy.

**but you will tell me? no lies?**

He’s not naïve enough to think that a promise now will keep Seth from lying later, but it makes him feel better about it. Seth’s reply this time is instant.

**100% truth. Whenever you’re ready for it.**

Roman lets out a whoosh of air. Whenever he’s ready for it. Is he ever going to be ready for this? Seth’s making it sound like Dean’s done the worst thing in the world – but he can’t have. Roman was always there. He would’ve noticed. And up until the night Seth hit him in the back with the chair, he and Dean were the same as they always were, joking around. Happy.

Nothing’s changed, so why did something change?

 **call me** he sends. Just to see. He’ll deal with it if he has to.

Seth sends back, **As much as I want to hear your voice you’re not ready to hear what I have to say.**

Roman groans, and sits down on his bed. Earlier today Seth was practically begging to be able to call Roman, and now that Roman actually wants to hear what he has to say, he’s backing out. Typical Seth. Typical Seth these days, anyway. Running away from his problems seems to be his thing as of late.

He doesn’t bother replying. What would he say? He just finishes getting ready for bed and sets his alarm for the morning.

When he wakes up, he has a voicemail from Seth.

He’s immediately wide awake, wondering wildly how he could’ve missed a phone call, his phone should’ve—? But he put it on silent, didn’t he, deliberately, so if Seth texted him then the vibrate wouldn’t wake him up, a quiet pettiness he would allow himself. He wasn’t expecting a call. Why would Seth call him? Is the middle of the night when Roman was supposed to be ready to hear what he has to say?

Roman passes his phone back and forth in his hands. Should he? He should. Well, he shouldn’t, actually, and he knows it, but he also knows that he’s going to anyway, so it doesn’t matter. He dials his voicemail.

You have one unheard message, yeah, yeah, Seth’s number, blah. Roman’s annoyed to find himself getting so impatient with the cool robotic voice of the voicemail lady. He’s a mess.

_Click._

There’s silence for a long moment, and Roman holds his breath. Did Seth just leave him an empty voicemail?

“Uh, hi,” says Seth’s voice. He sounds confused, which is weird, since he’s the one who called Roman and not the other way around. “I don’t actually know why I’m doing this; I knew you wouldn’t pick up, it’s like, six in the morning where you are. You should be getting your beauty sleep. Not that you really need it. Ha.” Seth’s half-hearted laugh makes Roman’s lips twitch despite himself. “Guess I did just miss hearing your voice. Even if it’s just your answering machine message.”

There’s a rustling on the other end like papers shifting together, and then Seth’s voice returns, resigned this time. “I shouldn’t have done this. This was stupid. I’m sorry. I’d tell you not to bother listening to it, but if you’re hearing me say that, you’ve already listened to it. Maybe I’ll text you and tell you not to.” He pauses again. “That’d just make you do it twice to spite me. I’ll figure something out.”

There’s another long silence where Roman wonders if Seth’s forgotten he’s on the phone. Then Seth laughs, and it’s not one of his loud fake ones, the ones he’s been doing for the past few months. It’s quiet and choppy, sounds kind of like clucking and he and Dean used to make fun of him for it all the time. “Guess I didn’t realize how much I actually missed you until now. Kinda like a punch in the stomach.”

There’s another click, and it takes Roman a few seconds to realize that was the message ending. He only gets it when the clinical voice asks him if he wants to save or delete the message. He saves it without blinking.

He has a text from his cousin and one from his mom and one from Dean, and he thumbs open the one from Dean while his head’s still processing the voicemail from Seth.

He and Seth are agreed on one thing: Roman wasn’t ready for that. Whether he’s ready for whatever Seth has to tell him still, he wasn’t ready to hear Seth’s voice talking to him, sounding just like he always has, talking to Roman like a human being and not like a problem to be solved. It wasn’t even a conversation. He didn’t even have to deal with it in real time. It still sent shockwaves through his system, butterflies in his stomach.

The message from Dean is a simple question, asking if they’re meeting up in the next city to ride to the next show together, and Roman answers in the affirmative, tacking on an **and make sure you’re icing that shoulder, tiger** to the end.

He sighs. What’s he supposed to do? Hearing Seth talk to him like they’re friends, like Seth really does miss talking to him, it’s just made it all worse. Talking to Dean feels like he’s lying. He’s acting like everything’s normal and it isn’t, and he’s the worst best friend in the world. Doesn’t deserve to call Dean his brother.

Hell, he feels like he’s _cheating_ on somebody. He knows that’s not the case, but that’s what it feels like. It feels like he’s having an affair behind Dean’s back, carrying on with Seth. 

Just because that’s not what it is doesn’t mean that’s not what it feels like he’s doing, and his thumb hovers over the keyboard, ready to tap out another message to Dean.

He doesn’t. He just keeps sitting where he is and staring at his phone until Dean texts him back, **yes daddy Im icing my shoulder can we get ice cream later if Im good**. Roman guesses he deserved that. He switches to the conversation with Seth and stares at that for a while instead.

Slowly, he taps out a message. By the time he sends it, he’s still not sure if it’s what he actually wants to do.

**i miss you too. call me later? i’ll pick up this time.**

Then it’s sent, and it’s out of his hands. He can’t do anything other than wait and see what Seth says back.

Seth replies, **You sure?** an hour later.

 **no but do it anyway** says Roman. 

Seth’s number lights up his phone at a quarter past four, and Roman stares at it for long enough that he’s sure Seth’s thinking he won’t pick up, and then he accepts the call.

“Hey,” he says into the phone. He doesn’t like the sound of his own voice, anticipatory, out of breath. He wants to sound cool and aloof, like he could take or leave Seth. It’d be bullshit, but he’d still rather that than whatever he sounds like now.

“Hey,” Seth replies. At least he sounds just as flustered. It’s not much of a consolation.

Roman laughs. He can’t help it. He laughs because he’s not sure what else to do, sliding a hand over his face, only now realizing what he’s doing.

“I just remembered who you are,” he says. It just comes out of his mouth.

“Ah, regretting this decision already, we’re off to a great start,” says Seth. He sounds teasing but hesitant, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to be this familiar with Roman, but he sounds like _Seth_. Not corporate stooge Seth, not Triple H’s favorite boy, just Seth. Roman can do this if Seth sounds like Seth.

“No, no,” says Roman, even though he is regretting it, a little. Not for the reasons Seth probably thinks he is. “No, it’s not that. It’s just… It’s you, you know?” He doesn’t even know. How can he expect Seth to know?

But Seth says, “Yeah,” and sounds like he does understand. God, Roman’s missed him so much.

“What’d you do today?” Roman blurts. He wants some piece of normalcy, something to help him pretend that everything is just like it used to be and he and Seth are best friends and Seth and Dean have never hated each other. If Seth says he spent the day playing ping-pong with Kane, Roman is going to punch a hole in the wall.

“Meetings, mostly,” answers Seth. He sounds surprised. “Always more meetings to go to. Always the same shit, too, never anything I actually need to be there for.”

“Where are you now?” Roman asks, standing up from the couch. He can’t be sitting down right now. He needs to be moving, pacing. He wish he could be on the phone and go for a run at the same time.

“Hotel room in Connecticut.” His voice moves away from the phone for a second. “I have another meeting in like twenty minutes.”

Is Roman imagining the apology in his voice? Probably. But it makes him feel good, so fuck it. His heart’s racing. “You alone?”

“Do you think I would’ve called you if I wasn’t?” Seth shoots back, which, yeah, Roman should’ve figured.

“Just making sure,” Roman mumbles. He’s just realized for the second time who exactly he’s talking to. “This’ll never work, y’know,” he says. “Your sugar daddy kind of wants me eliminated.”

Seth makes a sound like a rubber duck being stepped on. “For fuck’s sake, I get enough of that from – the other one. I don’t need it from you, too.”

“I think it’s pretty appropriate,” Roman says. It’s playful, or it’s meant to be, but there’s just enough truth behind it that he’s not positive Seth will take it that way. “Got you a shiny new present at Money in the Bank. Practically gave it to you on a silver platter.”

“Well, yeah,” says Seth, and Roman’s stunned for a moment. He wasn’t expecting Seth to admit that that match was skewed in his favor, no matter how blatantly it was. “But that doesn’t mean I sucked his dick to get it.”

“Oh, gross,” says Roman before he can help it. “I’d be really happy if you’d never make me think of Triple H’s dick ever again, thanks.”

“You brought it up!” Seth exclaims, but he’s laughing now, between his words. “Okay, deal. Christ. I do have standards, you know. I’m willing to do a lot of things to get ahead in this business, that’s not one of them.”

“Turning on us was,” Roman says. He really needs to stop speaking before he thinks, because it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. Seth’s not laughing anymore.

He thinks about saying he’s sorry, but he’s not, really. It’s true. Seth has standards and Roman and Dean weren’t up to them. He’s said as much. Roman doesn’t know why now any more than he did when it happened, but that doesn’t make it less true.

“Sorry,” he says anyway. He doesn’t have to mean something to say it. As long as he’s throwing honesty out the window with Dean, he might as well do it with everybody else, too.

“No, you’re not, and you’re right not to be,” Seth says quietly. “You’re right. I made that decision. I can’t exactly say it’s not true, can I? You were kind of there.”

“I was there,” says Roman, his throat dry. “Are we talking about it now?”

“Do you want to?” Seth replies. He doesn’t sound too good, either, but he hasn’t hung up, so that’s something. Roman’s not going to analyze how much that thought makes his stomach drop. He should be the one dangling carrots in front of Seth and waiting for him to come. Not the other way around. “I don’t know if it’d do much good if I don’t tell you why.”

“So why don’t you tell me why?” Roman asks. “I’m here. You said that you’d tell me once we were talking through something other than texts.”

To be honest, Roman’s not even sure he wants to know yet. He gets the feeling it’s not going to make him happy, and not just because Seth had said Roman would want to kill him. Anything that fuels the shit Seth and Dean have been putting each other through since the beginning of June has got to be pretty terrible.

“Call me selfish, but I don’t want you to hate me. And I still think I know you well enough to say you will.” Seth’s voice goes in and out. “Not to mention I’ve got that meeting soon. I’m in the elevator now. If the call drops.”

“Convenient.” Before Seth can say anything, Roman adds, “Joking. Okay, so, when? When do you want to do this?”

“Preferably never,” says Seth. There’s more noise in the background now. In the lobby of the hotel? “Uh, what do you do after Raw on Mondays?”

“Same thing I always do, Seth. We go eat, we go back to the hotel. Hasn’t changed.” Roman frowns. “Why?”

“Oh, I’m usually alone after Raw, is all,” Seth says. “During the show, not really, but they kind of let me do my own thing once the show’s over. I think Orton’s pissed ‘cause he thinks I’m out getting more tail than he does, after work. Hunter mentioned it in passing in front of him and he’s never forgotten it.”

Seth sounds aggravated. It’s kind of cute. “Are you?” Roman asks.

“Ha. No.” Seth snorts, but doesn’t offer any more information. “So Monday’s out, then?”

“I think Monday’s out,” says Roman wryly. “You were thinking in person, though?”

That’s risky. For both of them. Whether Seth’s on his own side, or on the Authority’s side, or whether he’s triple-crossing someone, it wouldn’t be good for them to be seen in the same place. At least not without there being a lot of punching involved.

Dean is going to kill him for this.

“Drastically increases the chances you’ll have to hit me,” says Seth. “Which I’m not really looking forward to, but I think you deserve a shot or two, probably, so I’ll give it to you. And…” There’s a pause and then abruptly the background noise cuts off and Seth releases a sigh. “And I haven’t been in the same room as you in a month, and it sucks, okay?”

Roman remembers, earlier, Seth had said something felt like being punched in the stomach. Roman gets that now. He understands that feeling all too well.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “We’ll figure out some way to do it in person. You get away from your handlers and I’ll figure out some way to… distract Dean for a while, and we’ll figure it out.” He bites his lip, then says, “I told him I texted you.”

Seth curses loudly, and it sounds like he fumbles the phone. “Oh, great, so I should expect actual murder the next time I see him. Instead of hiding in my car, he’ll just run me over with it. Thanks. You’re paying for my funeral.”

“He doesn’t know it’s still going on, jackass,” Roman says, rolling his eyes. “I mentioned it, he got upset, you know, like any human being would in that situation. I told him the truth.”

“Which is?” Seth asks.

Roman does his best not to feel bad about saying it out loud. “That I would never do what you did to him. And I wouldn’t. Not ever. If you ever get ideas about trying to turn me against Dean, it won’t work, and we’re through, no third chances.”

Seth doesn’t hang up. That was Roman’s first guess for what he’d do. “Technically,” he says, so quiet Roman can hardly hear him, “I think this is my third chance. If you’re counting the walkout in March.” He clears his throat. “I was never going to ask you to do that. I don’t blame you for thinking I might – I deserve the mistrust – but I wouldn’t. This is between me and Dean.” Again, he clears his throat. “And you mean more to me than just for use as a bargaining chip.”

That stomach-punching feeling doesn’t ever get more fun. 

“Well, good,” says Roman weakly. “At least you know.”

There’s a quiet tinkling sound like ice being dropped into a glass, and Roman narrows his eyes.

“Are you in a limo?” he asks.

The silence on the other end of the phone somehow sounds guilty. “… No?”

“You prissy little rich boy,” Roman says, vague delight coursing through his veins. “Did daddy send a limo to pick you up for your very special meeting?”

“Oh my god,” Seth groans. “I am hanging up now. Asshole. Because I’m getting out of the car, but also because you’re an asshole, just to be clear.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.” This feels good after the misery of the last half of their conversation. Roman’s smiling. When did he start doing that. “Tell Uncle Kane I said hi.”

“I’ll be sure to definitely _not_ do that,” Seth huffs. The noise level’s increased again. “I’ll talk to you later?”

It’s more than one question he’s asking, and Roman answers all of them when he says, “Yeah, sure. I’ll be around.”

“Cool.” Seth’s got the voice on he uses when he’s trying to come off less affected than he is. He’d used it when he met Roddy Piper, and when they won the tag championships, and whenever Dean does his Dusty Rhodes impression, it makes an appearance. Made an appearance. Whatever. Roman dares anyone not to laugh at Dean’s Dusty impression, even if they do hate him. “And we’ll figure out the other thing.”

“For sure.” Roman listens to the bustle on the other end of the phone for a moment, then says, “Seth?”

“Yeah?”

“You mean more to me, too,” Roman says. He’s not sure more than what, but clearly Seth at least means more than Roman’s morals, which has to count for something.

“More than what?” Seth asks, though he sounds a little winded.

“Not sure yet,” Roman replies. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out, though.”

“Okay,” Seth accepts, and then there’s a voice in the background asking if Seth has an appointment. “I gotta go.”

“Yeah, yeah. You do your thing.” Roman’s still reluctant to get off the phone, and he’s getting the impression Seth is, too, or he would’ve ended the call before he even entered the building.

“Bye,” says Seth. Once Roman returns it, he ends the call.

Half an hour. Nowhere near the longest phone call he’s had – not even the longest phone call he’s had with Seth – but he can’t help but feel like it was one of the most important conversations he’s ever had.

They don’t talk on the phone again for a few days. There are texts, though Roman gets the feeling they’re deliberately casual rather than coincidentally, Seth texting him a picture of a suit draped over a bed and asking if Roman thinks it’d look okay or if he should wear a different shirt with it, Roman asking Seth where he should go for lunch. Easy back and forths with no commitment, no hard questions. It almost feels normal.

It is normal. They used to do this all the time, getting each other’s opinions on things, sending each other texts that are meaningless, wastes of characters. It’s always been nice to just know that there’s someone willing to listen to your bullshit no matter how inane it is. Seth never replies to Roman saying **why would i care if you had a really good coffee this morning**. He just asks what Roman got, and where, and makes noise about trying it the next time he’s in the area.

Moments like that, it’s so easy to forget that everything’s not normal, no matter how much they’re trying to pretend it is. Roman remembers very suddenly, when he’s gotten to the hotel for Raw and he remembers that he’s rooming with Dean, of course, because he always rooms with Dean (unless Dean needs space, which he sometimes does, though it’s less often since The Incident). It’s much harder to forget that Seth is Seth when Dean’s around. It makes Roman feel like a sack of shit, honestly, and he knows it should.

Dean has no idea. He doesn’t know when Roman ducks into their room that he’s just replied to a text from Seth before he came in, deliberately waiting to respond before he even pulled out his keycard. When he hops up from the bed he’d been sitting on, he’s got a faint smile on his face, because Roman’s there and he trusts Roman, and he has no idea that he shouldn’t.

Should. Shouldn’t. Roman knows that he would never abandon Dean, knows he wouldn’t ever choose Seth over him, not now, but there’s no way Dean could know that. All Roman can do is prove it to him, and he’s doing a piss poor job of it.

“Hey,” he greets, heaving his suitcase up onto the other bed in the room. 

“Yo,” replies Dean, of course, and Roman smiles, shaking his head, hugging Dean in a movement so practiced at this point it’s almost instinct. They do a lot of hugging in the ring, heat of the moment, the rush of the fight, but they (the three of them, all three of them) were always a pretty touchy group of people. Dean gives good hugs. He doesn’t give them to a lot of people. Roman considers it a privilege that he’s allowed to have them. At this point, he thinks he might be the only one.

“You eaten yet?” Roman asks, patting Dean’s stomach with the backs of his knuckles. “When did your flight get in?”

“Couple hours ago.” Dean shrugs, hands in his jacket pockets. “I could go for food. I had one of those little packs of cinnamon rolls on the plane.”

“Five star cuisine,” Roman says wryly. “C’mon, let’s get lunch.”

They end up at a steakhouse across the street, and Roman nearly chokes on a fry when Dean says, “You heard anything more from Seth?”

He just throws it out there like it’s any old question, like he doesn’t even care about what the answer might be. Roman frowns, taking a drink of his water to stall his response.

“What d’you mean?” he finally settles on. Dean’s not impressed, from the way he levels a look at Roman.

“You mentioned you texted him,” Dean says, twisting a sugar packet through his fingers. It’s getting mangled, tiny crystals of sugar streaming down into the remnants of his burger. “I just wanted to know if anything more ever came of it. You don’t have to, like, protect my feelings, or whatever. Just trying to keep up with the news.”

“I deleted his number,” says Roman. God, that’s not a fucking answer, and Dean’s not _stupid_ , and Roman treating him like he is won’t do any good. It’ll just piss Dean off. His expression’s already closed off, more than it usually is with Roman, and he’s brushing the sugar off where it’s gotten onto the fries he hasn’t eaten yet. Probably stone cold by now, and there’s no way he hasn’t missed some of the sugar, but he just pops one into his mouth like he doesn’t care.

“He delete yours?” Dean asks, his eyes on Roman. 

Roman chews, thoughtfully, thinking about the conversations he and Seth have been having, thinking about the conversations Dean’s probably assuming they’re having. “No,” he says. He already promised himself, he’ll be as honest with Dean as he can. “I don’t think so.”

“Mm.” Dean is playing with the strip of paper that came wrapped around his silverware. Can’t sit still for even a second. “Do you—“

“No,” says Roman.

“You don’t know what I was going to say,” says Dean, a little furrow between his eyebrows.

“What were you going to say, then?” Roman asks. 

Dean licks his lips, a nervous habit, though he wouldn’t call it that. “I just need to know where you are with this, man,” he says quietly. Roman can feel his leg jittering anxiously under the table. “I need to know what I’m dealing with.”

“Nothing’s changed,” Roman says. That’s not quite true, and he knows it, but it’s true with regards to him and Dean, which is what matters. “You and me are still you and me. I still got your back a hundred percent, and nothing’s changing that.”

“Even if you had to choose?” Dean says. His eyes are still zeroed in on Roman, and it’s as vaguely unsettling as having all of Dean’s attention always is. Dean’s kind of an intense guy, and Roman swallows, chopping a soggy fry in half with his fork just to have something to do with his hands.

“You,” Roman says. It’s not even really a hard decision. Dean’s always been there for him when he needed him, even when Roman was pretty sure they hated each other. Now, when they finally got all that fixed, and they’re on the same page, Dean’s his best friend. “It’s not even a choice. He made his already, anyway, and it wasn’t us.”

“It wasn’t me, you mean,” Dean mumbles. He’s mangled near everything on the table that’s not nailed down, from sugar packets to straw wrappers to napkins. Nothing is safe from Dean Ambrose and his fidgety fingers. “I dunno. Maybe I’m just paranoid.”

“You? Paranoid?” Roman tries a smile. “Never.”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up.” Dean drops a napkin onto his plate that he’s managed to fashion into a crooked but decent origami rose, because Dean is a man of many varied but ultimately useless talents. He’s Roman’s hero, a little. Maybe he’ll teach Roman how to make napkin roses. “You’re buying, ‘cause you fraternized with the enemy or whatever.”

Roman sighs heavily, but he does end up paying, because Dean’s kind of got a point. 

“Hey,” Roman says when they’re on their way out, walking back to the hotel before they need to get ready to head to the arena for the show. “I mean what I say. You know me.”

Dean’s mouth twists, and he shrugs his shoulders. He must be boiling, wearing leather in this heat. It’s July, for crying out loud. “I know you,” he agrees. “I still mean what I said, too, the week after. You’re my best friend. I kinda got a limited number of those.” He cuts his eyes toward Roman. “Don’t make the number go down to zero. All I’m asking. I’m not gonna try to control your life. You can do what you want. And I guess I’ll do what I have to do.”

They walk in silence until they’re in the elevator, and Dean’s leaning against the wall, the button for their floor lit up. “Can I ask you something? You don’t gotta answer.”

“Of course,” Roman says quietly, even though they’re the only two people in the elevator. 

Dean visibly swallows. “He ever mention why you and not me?”

Roman almost cringes. Definitely a question he doesn’t want to answer, and not just because he doesn’t _have_ an answer.

“Not really,” he says. He’s almost positive Dean doesn’t actually want to know anyway, but if Roman knew, he’d tell him. “I did ask. He said he thought I’d probably want to kill him when he told me. And that I wouldn’t understand, I think.”

Dean looks away, down to the bottom corner of the elevator, and Roman watches him try to rearrange his face into something less than bitterness and resignation. He manages it pretty well by the time he looks up, though there’s still hints of that exhaustion at the corners of his eyes.

“Figures,” he mumbles. “Doesn’t like straight answers.”

“Think he’s probably allergic to them,” Roman says. He’s never sure how to handle Dean like this. He kind of wants to hug him again. That probably wouldn’t be well received, but there’s no handbook on How To Comfort Your Best Friend When His Best Friend Decides He Doesn’t Love Him Anymore. Roman would buy a copy of that book ten times over.

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” Dean says, rubbing the back of his neck. The elevator dings and Roman lets him get out first. “It’s not really why you and not me, I don’t think. I think it’s probably just why not me.”

Roman can’t help it. He hooks an arm around Dean’s neck the second they’re in their hotel room and hugs him, and Dean’s chin ends up smashing against his collarbone, but he sighs, and he doesn’t yank himself away, so Roman doesn’t let go. He just gets a hand on the back of Dean’s neck, to keep him there a second longer. Roman needs this just as much as Dean does.

“He’s a fucking idiot who doesn’t deserve a brother like you,” says Roman. “Whatever his bullshit is, it’s bullshit. You’re the best friend he’s ever had.”

“I don’t think he’d agree with that,” Dean mumbles, his hand hovering above Roman’s ribs like he hasn’t decided yet if he’s hugging back.

“He gets soy creamer in his coffee, what the fuck does he know?” Roman asks.

Dean makes this helpless little laughing sound against Roman’s shoulder, and his hand finally comes down, sliding around Roman’s side to complete the hug. Roman pats his back once, twice, and then lets go.

“Seriously,” he says. “You deserve better than him, anyway.”

Dean grips Roman’s shoulders before he can fully pull away, and levels him with that stare again. “So do you,” he says. Roman wonders if there’s some sort of double meaning there, but he doubts it. 

“I know,” he says, even though he doesn’t know anything of the sort. He looks away. “We should get ready to head to the arena. You got a match tonight?”

They fill the time on their way to the arena with back and forth chatter. Roman doesn’t check his phone once, and he doesn’t even notice until about halfway through the show, when he’s on his way to get a water from catering and he passes by Seth from a distance.

Seth looks up from his conversation with some producer or another, some guy in a suit, and apart from a pinched brow so subtle Roman almost thinks he’s making it up, his expression doesn’t change at all when he sees Roman. God, he’s good at keeping a straight face. No wonder they never guessed he wasn’t exactly being a team player. Roman’s fully aware he wears his heart on his sleeve, his emotions on his face. He doesn’t know how to do anything else.

He has no idea what the emotions on his face are right now. He just knows that looking at Seth, the only thought he can make out in his own head is _Does it make you feel powerful to break peoples’ hearts?_

There are messages on his phone when he gets back to the room. He doesn’t have any pockets in his ring gear so he left it behind, and all the messages are from Seth. The most recent one is from two minutes ago.

**There’s a really good restaurant across from the hotel**

**Barista put dairy creamer in my coffee like I wouldn’t be able to taste the difference**

**Are you around?**

**What’s wrong**

He sends back **nothing** knowing that Seth isn’t going to buy that, and sure enough, he gets a text back in about fifteen seconds.

**Bullshit you looked pissed. At me?**

Roman drums his fingertips on the back of his phone, unsure of what he wants to say. Yes, sort of, but no, he’s more upset at himself, really. He’s upset at himself for only being able to muster selective anger with Seth. He’s so angry at Seth for doing this to Dean, but he doesn’t give a shit about what Seth did to _him_. That’s fucked up, probably. Seth turned on Roman, too. He turned on Dean, yes, and Roman doesn’t begrudge Dean his anger, obviously, but where’s Roman’s anger? Where’s Roman’s thirst for vengeance? For justice?

 **why’d you turn on us?** he sends.

He doubts he’ll get an answer now any more than he did before, but he wants to know. He wants to know so badly, because he wants to have that anger, too. He wants to be angry at Seth.

To his surprise, Seth doesn’t respond with a dismissal.

**Not through texts**

And then there’s another: **I’ll tell you if you can find some way to be alone after the show**.

Roman scowls, but that’s not totally unfair, so he texts back, **i’m telling dean anyway does he not deserve to hear it from you?**

Seth’s next text seems to take an age, long enough that Roman’s getting antsy, because he has a match soon. It takes too long, considering what it says.

**no**

Roman knew it was too much to hope that Seth could treat Dean like a human being, like a person who deserves to hear a reason why their friend betrayed them. Seth’s not the one who has to watch the way Dean curls in on himself after he gets a few shots in on Seth. The second there aren’t any cameras on him, he sits down and stares at his hands, and they shake.

He knew Seth wouldn’t do Dean the decency of telling him himself. It still pisses him off.

That’s good, because it means his opponent for the night doesn’t stand a chance, but he almost breaks his hand on the dude’s jaw, so maybe he should’ve saved the serious questions for after the show.

“You okay?” Dean asks him after the show. He’s eyeing Roman like he knows something’s wrong but he can’t figure out what it is. “I know aggression’s kind of your thing, but it’s usually… more focused.”

“Yeah.” Roman’s in the passenger seat, letting Dean drive. His phone’s burning a hole in his pocket. “Yeah, no, I’m good. Just a lot on my mind.”

“Looks like it,” says Dean. “Wanna talk about it?”

Roman frowns a little, looking at Dean sideways. “What?” he asks blankly.

Dean’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. “That’s a thing people say, right?” he asks defensively. “If you wanna talk about shit that’s bothering you. We can get food and I’ll, like, listen and shit.”

“I think maybe I’ll just take a walk when we get back to the hotel,” Roman mumbles, slouching. It doesn’t take much. Usually they make sure to get cars with a lot of leg room, because they’re two pretty big guys, but this one’s cramped. “Appreciate the offer, though.”

“Well, it’s open-ended.” Dean glances over at him. “You ever wanna take me up on it, let me know. We’ll get shitty pizza and talk about our shitty lives.”

“Sounds great.” Roman smiles sideways at him, shaking his head. “Maybe when I get back from my walk. I’ll try not to stay out too late.”

“Hell, I’m not your mother. Stay out late. Just don’t wake me up when you come back at three in the morning.” Dean shrugs as he parks. “You might not need your beauty sleep, but I sure as hell do.”

Roman stows his gear bag up in their room before he heads downstairs for his walk. Dean’s making noise about watching some documentary about a war on the TV in their room, and Roman feels like scum as he pulls out his phone, types in, **where? i’m in the lobby**

He fidgets nervously. He wants to know, desperately, yeah, but Seth seems so sure that this is going to be the worst thing he’s ever said to Roman, and Roman’s never known Seth to exaggerate.

Seth’s reply comes more quickly than he’s expecting.

**Take a walk with me? There’s a park about two blocks down, turn right out the door**

Roman takes a deep breath and then lets it out, tucking his phone back into his pocket and making his way out the front door.

With the sun down, it’s not as blisteringly hot as it is during the day. Roman’s only wearing a t-shirt, so the pleasantly cool breeze is a welcome relief from the heat of the day and the bright, hot lights of the arena.

It doesn’t take long to spot Seth. His hair’s mostly hidden underneath one of his stupid hats, and he’s wearing the chunky glasses that hide most of his face, but Roman would recognize the way he’s standing any day. His heart starts beating faster.

Seth sees him, too, and he stands up straighter. Roman is seized with the urge to hug almost immediately followed by the urge to punch, and in the end he does neither, stopping a couple feet from Seth and saying, quietly, “Hi.”

Seth jumps. It’s as though he wasn’t expecting Roman to speak, even though he’s looking right at him. “Hey,” he replies. He jerks his head toward the path that winds through the park. “Walk?”

“Sure,” says Roman. By some mutual agreement, they don’t drop right into the hard conversation, instead starting out slow. “Good match tonight,” Roman says.

“Until the end,” Seth agrees. It goes unvoiced that the reason Seth didn’t like the end is because Dean came out and interrupted his pinfall. “Yours was, too. You seemed kind of off your game, though.”

“Had a lot to think about,” Roman murmurs. Seth nods, silently, and looks back off down the path. As far as Roman can tell, it weaves through the park and then around the perimeter, occasionally veering off into other, smaller paths that Roman can’t see the ends of.

Seth lets out a whoosh of air that sounds like the contents of both of his lungs at once. “Okay,” he says. “Ask.”

“Why’d you turn on us?” Roman asks. He’s not wasting this opportunity, in case Seth rescinds his offer, if he doesn’t ask quickly enough. His head is throbbing a little from the anticipation.

Seth shakes his head, though. “I didn’t,” he says quietly.

Roman frowns. None of his confusion’s been alleviated. “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t turn on you and Dean,” Seth says. He looks resigned. “I don’t blame you if you wanna think I turned on you. But then you’re the only person I turned on.”

“What are you saying?” Roman asks. He stops walking, and Seth walks ahead a few steps before he realizes and has to retrace his steps. “What are you talking about? You’re not making any sense.”

“Okay,” Seth allows. “Maybe, think of it like this: to turn on somebody, you have to have been on their side in the first place. I was on your side. I wasn’t on Dean’s. Does that make more sense?”

“No,” Roman says, flat and confused. “What do you mean, you weren’t on Dean’s? We fought together for a year and a half, Seth.”

“You were _collateral damage_ ,” Seth says. He’s looking at Roman with the corners of his mouth turned down. “I knew from the second the Shield was formed that as soon as the time was right, I was going to fuck over Dean Ambrose. I’ve known I was going to find a way to do that _this entire time_.”

Roman feels numb. “You’ve been planning to do this since the beginning,” he says. He can barely hear himself.

“Planning’s a strong word,” Seth says, his shoulders lifting and then settling again. “Waiting, I guess. Waiting for the right moment.”

“Jesus Christ, Seth,” Roman says. He doesn’t even know what else he’s supposed to say. There’s a bench near enough that he sits down on it, and Seth does, too, quickly.

“If there had been a way to do it without you being involved, I would’ve done it in a heartbeat, I swear I would’ve,” says Seth. “But I knew you’d never let that happen. So I got you out of the way first and hoped you’d stay out of the way.” He pauses, then adds, “I didn’t know Orton was going to get that overzealous with the chair shots, after.”

“Non-apology not accepted, thanks,” Roman mumbles, rubbing his eyes with his fists in the hopes that all of this will make a little more sense. “Why?” he asks, plaintive. “Why did he deserve that? Why the long, drawn out scheme? What the fuck made you need that?”

Seth sighs again, and looks off across the park. It’s just them, there this late. Roman can’t see anyone else around for what seems like miles. 

“From the second he got to this company,” Seth says, “he tried to ruin everything I’d worked for. So I returned the favor.”

Roman tries to make that make more sense than it does.

“Are you seriously,” he asks, but he can’t even finish the question until he swallows and forces it out. “Are you seriously telling me that this is about a grudge you’ve been holding for three fucking years?”

“I did tell you that you wouldn’t understand,” Seth mumbles, but he’s not meeting Roman’s eyes anymore. “When I found out he was going to be in the group, I saw it as a way that I could finally get my revenge. He and I were never in NXT at the same time. I didn’t have a chance before then.”

“Three fucking years,” Roman repeats. “Are you really not – do you seriously not see how childish that is? Fuck, Seth, get over it. So he pulled your pigtails in developmental. He pulled everyone’s pigtails.”

“Well, he pulled mine a little too hard, so I pulled back.” Seth scowls for a second, but his expression evens out. “I figured you’d probably be pissed about it. But you wanted to know, and I don’t like lying to you, so.”

“You don’t like _lying_ to me?” Roman repeats, incredulous. “You just told me you’ve been lying to me this whole time! That’s two _years_ of lying.”

“No, no,” Seth rushes to say. “No, it wasn’t. I didn’t lie to you. I didn’t even really lie to him, mostly. It’s not like anybody ever asked me if I was planning on screwing Dean over. That’s not, like, a common interview question.”

“You’ve hated him this whole time and you’ve told him to his face that he was your best friend, and that wasn’t a lie.” Roman doesn’t even phrase it like a question. He wants to get out of here. He can barely look at Seth.

“Not… exactly,” Seth mutters. “It’s complicated.”

“Uncomplicate it and then explain it to me,” Roman replies.

Seth sighs again. “I don’t even hate him, really, or I didn’t until he started jumping me during my matches,” he says. “I just wanted to get back at him for fucking me over by fucking him over. You don’t, I didn’t just spend a year and a half plotting his downfall. I’m not like a criminal mastermind. He’s pretty cool most of the time, when you get to know him. When he’s not hiding around every corner waiting to attack you.”

“You hit him with a chair fifteen times,” Roman says.

Seth bites his lip, hard enough that it looks like it hurts, and he looks back out over the park again.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I missed you,” he says after a moment. “I want to make this work. If it can.”

“I don’t know if it can,” says Roman, and it hurts to say, but Seth just nods, accepting it. “That’s screwed up, man. I could never – I don’t know how you could do that to a person. Just for picking on you a little a couple years ago.”

“Have you never wanted revenge on someone?” Seth asks, arms folded, and it somehow doesn’t look defensive. 

“I tried to want it on you,” Roman says bluntly. “And I couldn’t do that.”

Seth flinches, but doesn’t say anything. Roman wishes he had something to do with his hands, and almost pulls out his phone to text Seth, because that’s what he’s been doing, texting Seth whenever his hands need something to do.

“I need space,” Roman says. “To think about things. Dean’s my boy, and you fucked him over for shitty reasons.” 

He can see on Seth’s face how much he wants to protest that they weren’t shitty reasons, but he keeps his mouth shut. One point for him, then.

“I want it to work, too,” says Roman. “I just, how am I supposed to trust you? How am I supposed to believe anything you say? How am I supposed to be okay with you when you can do that to somebody?”

Seth licks his lips. “If you can’t be, then you can’t be,” he says. “And I’ll just have to deal with that. I knew what I was risking when I did it.”

“And you thought it was worth it?” Roman asks.

Seth takes a long time to answer. His eyes scan the length of the park that’s visible to them, dark green trees and barely any stars because they’re too close to the city to be far enough away from all the light. There are lamps along the pathway, and one set up behind their bench. It casts a pale glow onto Seth’s face, and Roman wonders if that’s what’s making him look sick to his stomach.

“I did,” Seth says softly. “And it wasn’t.”

Roman doesn’t know what else to say. They sit there in silence for the next few minutes, both just watching the breeze sway the treetops. It’s pretty boring.

“You haven’t punched me yet,” Seth says. “I was really expecting one.”

“Haven’t ruled it out yet,” says Roman, “but I wouldn’t want to break your doofy glasses.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Seth touch his frames with surprise, as though he’s forgotten he was wearing them. “Well,” Seth says. He doesn’t turn it into a sentence.

“We should get back,” Roman says, bracing his hands on his thighs to stand up. He checks the time. It’s past midnight, closer to one, and he wonders if Dean is still watching his stupid documentary. No matter what Dean had said about Roman waking him up by coming back late, Roman knows Dean’ll still be up when he gets back. They won’t talk about it, but they keep track of each other.

“Probably, yeah,” says Seth. He sounds reluctant. “We should, uh, stagger when we leave. I don’t think there are any more eyes on me than usual, but you can’t be too careful. Don’t want to put targets on either of our backs.”

“Right,” Roman mutters. He has no idea how to say goodbye to Seth when they’re not what they were. Before, when they’d be leaving on separate flights, or taking separate cars – if they weren’t going to see each other for a while, it was a hug. Almost always. But he doesn’t know if that’s allowed, now. He doesn’t know if he can allow it.

Seth doesn’t look like he knows what to do, either. He has his hands in his pockets, and he’s sort of rocking forward onto the balls of his feet and then back again, watching Roman. Roman doesn’t know how to do this.

“I want—“ He cuts himself off.

Seth nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”

“I don’t think I can—“

“Yeah,” says Seth again. “No, I get it, yeah.”

“I hate this,” says Roman, quietly. He didn’t even mean to say it out loud.

Seth laughs, and it’s not happy. “I don’t think anybody likes it. We just deal with it.”

“Well, it sucks,” Roman says. He puts his own hands in his pockets. “It sucks, and I hate it.”

“I’m sorry,” says Seth. It makes Roman look up. He’s not sure, but he thinks that might be the first time Seth’s apologized for any of this. “I wish things could be different.”

They don’t hug. They walk together back to where the path starts, and then Roman quietly says goodnight, and Seth tells him to go ahead first.

Dean’s still up when he gets back to the hotel room. He’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, watching the TV intently, the light flickering in patterns across his face. When Roman checks to see what’s on, it’s not a war documentary. It’s an old episode of Spongebob Squarepants. Dean doesn’t even look embarrassed.

“Hey,” Roman says. 

Dean looks up at him and rears back a little, then swings his legs off the bed. “How many shitty pizzas do you want?” he asks, already grabbing for his phone.

Roman debates saying that he’s fine, and he doesn’t want any pizza, he just wants to go to bed, but instead he sighs. “Like six, man,” he mutters, plopping down onto the bed next to Dean. “What’re we watching?”

“S’the one with the giant worm,” Dean replies absently as though Roman has any idea what that description means. He sits back against the headboard anyway. It sounds mindless enough to get him to stop thinking about stupid things, anyway.

He doesn’t text Seth for about a week, and Seth doesn’t text him either. Apparently, he’s giving Roman the space he said he would to deal with this.

Roman remembers Dean and Seth in developmental. From the moment Dean came to the company, Seth was his target. He wanted matches with Seth, title shots against Seth, but the title shots seemed almost coincidental. He just wanted to fight Seth, and the title Seth was holding didn’t really matter.

So Roman can see where Seth’s coming from, if only in that he _remembers_ them then, and it was so all-consuming, they were always so driven to beat each other in everything. It forced the rest of the locker room to be better, because Seth and Dean were stealing the show each and every week. Dean made his name in the company through his matches with Seth. 

At least when Seth and Roman aren’t texting, it means he can spend the time with Dean that he already should have. He feels guilty about it if he lets himself think about it too long, because Dean’s the one that’s stayed by his side this whole time, buying him pizza and pretending – Roman thinks he was pretending – to find deep meaning in episodes of Spongebob to make Roman laugh.

(“You don’t understand,” Dean had said, gesturing with a slice of half-eaten pizza, crumbs of crust at the corners of his mouth and more of them on his sheets, “it’s a _euphemism_ , dude, this whole episode’s about, like, the mortality of man, the inevitability of death and shit.”)

Dean’s the one who’s never left, and Roman should remember that no matter how much he wants to be able to call Seth his friend again, he can’t neglect Dean in order to do that. Dean has proved himself as a friend, and Seth has done anything but. It shouldn’t take Seth giving Roman space for Roman to focus on his friendship with Dean.

They’re spending the next few days on the road, though, which means a lot of weird conversations and trading off driving while the other person sleeps in the passenger seat, a lot of Dean reading the map wrong and forcing them to stop on the side of the road to figure out how they drove fifty miles in the opposite direction from where they were supposed to be going.

It’s on a long stretch of road, while Roman’s driving, that he decides to ask Dean something he’s always sort of wanted to ask him – but something that’s a little more important now than it was.

“Hey,” he says, pushing his sunglasses up his nose and glancing over to Dean. “What kinda mood you in?”

Dean groans, sitting up straighter in his seat. “Well, it was pretty good, but I’m guessing that’s not gonna last much longer.” He scowls at Roman, but there’s no honest annoyance in his eyes, so Roman shrugs.

“Did you really come to the WWE just to fight Seth?”

He can feel Dean considering him more than he can see it. He keeps his eyes on the road.

“That’d be kind of obsessive and creepy, don’t you think?” Dean asks. Roman can’t read anything from his voice.

“For normal people or for you?” he asks, drumming his fingertips against the steering wheel.

Dean laughs quietly, so Roman guesses that was the right route to take. Dean likes when people aren’t afraid to say shit like that to his face.

“Not just to fight him,” he admits. Roman glances over, quick, to see him settling back in his seat. “It’s kind of the ultimate, in this business, isn’t it? The major leagues of wrestling. But I’m not gonna lie and say that being able to wrestle him wasn’t a big selling point.”

“Did you hate him then?” Roman asks. It’s not a question he thinks he should ask, and the second it’s out, he wants to shove it back in again, but that’s not possible. 

Dean takes a minute to answer. “No,” he says, short and quiet. “Thought he was an annoying goody two-shoes who wasn’t taking advantage of how good he was. Hated how much he cared about what people thought. Never hated him.” He snorts. “Guess he fixed all those things, though. Maybe I should be happy about it.”

Roman doesn’t say anything for the next couple miles. The radio’s on, playing some late 90s pop song he vaguely recognizes, and he gathers his thoughts.

“D’you think he hates you?” he asks quietly.

“You really don’t want me to be in a good mood, do you? Jesus,” Dean huffs, shoving a hand through his hair, knocking his sunglasses off because he forgot they were propped on his head. He gives them an annoyed look where they’ve fallen into the backseat, then ignores them. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“Sorry,” Roman says. He is, too – he knew even before he said it this time that he shouldn’t, and then he did anyway. “That was a shitty thing to ask.”

“Yeah, it was,” Dean says. He doesn’t let Roman off the hook and it’s one of Roman’s favorite things about him. Someone needs to hold him accountable for what comes out of his mouth. “Why’s it even matter? What’s with the sudden interest?”

“Not sudden,” Roman says. “I’ve just never asked before. Didn’t want to bring up old wounds while we were in a group together. Then I didn’t want to get punched if you were in a bad mood when I asked.”

“And I’m always in a bad mood these days,” Dean concludes, which isn’t what Roman was saying, but isn’t _not_ what he was saying. “You sure know how to make a guy feel good, you know that?”

“Sorry,” Roman says again. “I didn’t mean it like that. I guess I just think you’ve got enough shit going on without me adding to it.”

Dean rolls his eyes. Roman’s not even looking at him and he can tell. “Do you,” Roman starts. He shakes his head, but Dean’s just going to tell him to say whatever it is anyway, so he finishes the thought. “Do you ever think about down the road? Not even – years from now, maybe. Do you think the two of you are just, I don’t want to say shit about destiny, because that’s, you know, but… do you think there’ll ever be a time when it’s better?”

He can feel Dean looking at him again. His hands are tight on the steering wheel, and he tries to consciously relax them.

“You want the three of us to be friends again.” It’s not a question, and it’s the same tone from before, the one Roman can’t read, and he hates it because he thought he’d gotten better at reading Dean.

“Not necessarily,” Roman says, because as time goes on, as he learns more, his hope dwindles that Dean and Seth will ever be able to be friends again, or anything resembling the word. “Maybe just… less trying to kill each other every week. I don’t know. I know it’s stupid. Forget I asked.”

He’d rather have no answer than a definitive no. Even if Dean has every right to deliver that no. Dean of all people is allowed to want nothing to do with Seth.

“No,” Dean says slowly. “It’s fine, I guess. I don’t know. I can’t see the future. Right now I’m having a lot of fun beating the hell out of him. That ever starts to be less fun, maybe we’ll see. I don’t think he’d go for it, but I’m starting to wonder if there’s anything you can’t do if you put your mind to it.”

Roman ducks his head a little. He can feel the smile curling his lips, and he shakes his head. “You have more confidence in me than I deserve, I think,” he mumbles.

“Nah,” Dean says. “I think if anyone could change his mind, you could. You, uh. He’s always liked you best.”

There’s something weird in Dean’s voice, and Roman frowns.

“I don’t think it’s that clean cut,” he says.

Dean snorts. “Whatever you say.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Roman asks. Dean still sounds weird. It’s making Roman feel prickly.

“Hey, nothin’.” Dean shrugs, from the sound of fabric shifting. “You know, you guys had the tag titles together, and shit. He, you know, he liked you a lot.”

Roman tries to read in between the lines of what Dean’s saying, because there’s definitely more there, more that Roman should know, should understand. He’s just not getting it, though. He sighs.

“I guess,” he says. “You guys had more in common, I thought. Felt sometimes like I couldn’t really relate on the same level.”

“He and I are too similar, I think,” Dean says. They’re actually talking about Seth, explicitly, which has happened about three and a half times since he left (left; what a diplomatic word for it) and almost never without Dean refusing to talk to Roman for a few hours after. It’s probably mean to do it here, where Dean can’t run away, but it doesn’t look like he’s even trying to. He doesn’t sound angry. Just thoughtful. Matter-of-fact. “I knew we could be good friends the first time I heard him talk. I just also thought we’d probably make better enemies.”

“Still feel that way?” Roman asks.

Dean shifts in his seat. When Roman looks over, his arms are folded, and his eyes are narrowed, staring out the windshield.

“Ask me again in a couple weeks,” he murmurs. “Answer seems to change daily.”

Roman can understand that. Maybe not in the same way, because Seth and Dean can never do anything by halves, but he can understand it all the same. Sometimes it seems like he spends his days doing nothing but vacillating between loving Seth as much as he always has and wishing he’d never met him.

He wonders if Dean regrets meeting Seth. He won’t ask, since he’s already asked too many hard questions today, but he does wonder. Roman can’t even imagine what his life would be like if Seth was never in it. So much of what he’s done has been beside Seth. Most of the things that matter.

Thankfully, the conversation switches back to less serious matters, what radio station to play, whether or not Bon Jovi was ever really cool. It’s so easy, with Dean. Roman knows it wasn’t, always, but it is now. He tries to remember any of the reasons he and Dean used to fight so much but none come to mind. Dean’s one of his favorite people. Roman needs to remind himself of that more often.

When they stop at a gas station to fill up, and to switch seats so Dean can drive for a while, Roman pulls out his phone.

**do you wish you never met him?**

It’s the first text he’s sent Seth in a couple days. He can’t ask Dean because he won’t do that to him any more than he has to, but if it matters to Seth at all, it’s not like he won’t deserve the pain the thought would bring. Chances are, though, it won’t hurt him at all. Roman wants to hate him for that. He wishes he had an easier time hating Seth.

“Hey,” Dean says, leaning into the open driver’s side window. It’s so sudden that Roman jumps, bangs his knee on the dashboard. He curses while Dean laughs at him. “Calm down, tough guy. Just wondered if you wanted anything from inside. I’m gettin’ one of those big frozen slushy drink things. One as big as my head.”

“They got nachos?” Roman asks, peering at the building to see if they’re the kind of place that would have nachos. “I really want some fucking nachos, man.”

“I’ll get you some nachos.” Dean grins at him, and it’s like the conversation they had before never happened. How does Dean do that? How does he just move past that? Or, if he hasn’t, how does he put on such a good fake smile? Maybe he’ll teach Roman sometime.

Dean whistles as he makes his way into the gas station. It’s good timing, because Roman’s phone vibrates against his leg while he’s watching Dean go.

It’s Seth, because of course it’s Seth. He didn’t even ask who Roman was talking about. Roman guesses it’s probably obvious. Who is he ever talking about? He doesn’t mention that Roman hasn’t spoken to him in days, and he doesn’t pretend not to understand what he’s saying. He just answers the question.

**Nope. Even if we hadn’t ruled the world together I learned a lot from watching him**

Well, that’s something. Roman nibbles on his thumbnail as he texts back with his other hand.

**it’s hard for me to believe you never liked him**

It is. It’s so hard. Even though Roman knows _he_ spent some time not liking Dean, that was mostly because Dean didn’t like him first, and sometimes Roman can be petty. Now, though, it seems ludicrous that anyone could dislike Dean. He’s so weird and funny and charming and he’s loyal to a fault, and he’s good at advice even if he’d tell you he wasn’t, and he’s a fount of information if you ever want to know something about wrestling. 

Roman’s leg jitters up and down while he waits for Seth’s response, which takes time in coming. He keeps checking the entrance to the gas station like he’s the cheating spouse.

It’s not the first time he’s made that comparison. He wishes it felt less appropriate.

Seth’s reply says, **Did I say I never liked him?**

Roman frowns, leaning his head back against the headrest. He thinks back to their conversation in the park. Seth had said that he was planning on getting revenge on Dean from the outset. He’d said… He said he didn’t hate Dean, but there’s a difference between not-hating and liking. Roman doesn’t hate a lot of people. He doesn’t like them just because he has no reason to hate them.

He said he thought Dean was cool sometimes. That’s a pretty apt description of Dean – cool, sometimes. A fucking weirdo the rest of the time. Roman likes him either way.

**guess not. never said you did either though**

“They didn’t have nachos,” Dean announces, opening the door. Roman manages to control his jumpiness this time, putting his phone back into his pocket. “I got you one of the big slushy things as an apology. We’ll find you some nachos. What the fuck good is a gas station that doesn’t have shitty, gross nachos? It’s a travesty of justice.”

Dean keeps talking, even as he’s fastening his seatbelt and then pulling out of the gas station. His slushy thing is shoved between his legs in what Roman is sure is not good car-driving protocol, and Dean’s absolutely going to give his dick brain-freeze, but he doesn’t seem to care that much. 

“I got one of those big pickles,” Dean says, dropping his bag of gas station purchases onto Roman’s lap with one hand while he steers with the other. “The kind that comes in the bag thing with all the juice.”

“Did you get it to eat?” Roman says doubtfully, fishing the aforementioned pickle out of the bag and eyeing it with caution.

“Nah,” says Dean, casual like that’s something most people do. “Just wanted to have it. Maybe I’ll put it on my mantle.”

“You’re so fucking weird, dude,” Roman says, dropping the pickle back into the bag. Dean’s also gotten sunflower seeds and those candy peach rings that are covered in sugar. And – Roman pushes those aside to see what’s underneath – a pack of gum. That’s nothing surprising. Dean goes through gum so quickly that they’re constantly having to grab more whenever possible. He’s chewing gum right now, in between slurps on his slushy, which is disgusting.

“Hey,” says Dean with no real offense. He gestures with his giant cup. “Drink your slushy and no more backtalk out of you.”

Roman holds his hands up in placation, and obediently takes a drink from his cup. It tastes like sugar and red dye #40. It’s fucking delicious.

He doesn’t check his phone for the rest of the ride. It buzzes twice, but he keeps it right in his pocket, and spends some time with his best friend.

Of course, he checks his phone the second they stop at a rest station, but that’s just him needing something to do while Dean’s in the bathroom.

**He’s hard not to like**

**That’s kind of avoiding the question still I guess. I did like him yeah**

Just not enough not to hit him with the chair. That’s what Seth’s not saying, and what Roman can read between the lines. He doesn’t need to say that, they both know it. Roman tries to imagine hitting Dean with a chair. Just the thought makes his blood run cold.

Seth doesn’t work like him, though. Roman has grown up knowing that family is the most important thing, and Dean and Seth, through circumstance, through time and blood shed together and memories made together, they are his family. Family is everything for Roman. Seth doesn’t work like that. It doesn’t make what he did okay, but it makes it easier to understand.

“Deep thoughts.” Roman hadn’t even noticed Dean was back, but he’s leaning against the side of the car, peering at Roman through the open window with a slight frown on his face. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Roman puts his phone back in his pocket. “Yeah, no problem.”

“You sure?” Dean opens the door, sliding back into his seat. He doesn’t start the car, just looking at Roman. Fuck, but Dean’s got this way of looking at people that makes them want to tell him all their secrets, their whole life story.

Maybe that’s just Roman. It’s effective, whether it only works on him or not. He finds himself wanting to _confess_ things when Dean looks at him like that. Even when he knows he shouldn’t. Even when he knows the only thing he has to confess right now is that he knows why Seth turned on them. He still thinks of it as turning on them, whatever Seth says about the nature of betrayal. Dean trusted Seth. Seth broke that trust. That counts as a betrayal in Roman’s books.

“Yeah,” he says, once he realizes he never gave Dean an answer, and Dean’s eyes have narrowed at him, suspicious, with concern lurking at the corners. “Yeah, yeah, I’m cool. Just… thinking about stuff, I guess.”

“Seth stuff?” Dean asks as he puts the key back into the ignition. “That’s your thinking-about-Seth-stuff face.”

“I have a face for that?” Roman asks, then shakes his head before Dean can answer. “No, I mean, I guess. Kind of. Doesn’t matter. I’ll figure it out.”

“I know it’s pretty clear he’s not my favorite person to talk about,” says Dean, “but that doesn’t mean I’m, like, I know you’re having a hard time about it. And I’m kind of the only person who’s goin’ through it, too. So I’ll suck it up if you want to talk about it. Maybe it’ll do me some good, I don’t know.”

Well, that was pretty much the last thing Roman was expecting to hear. He turns to look at Dean, who doesn’t look back, because he’s driving, and watches him take a drink from his mostly melted slushy.

“You serious?” he asks. He’s not sure what else to say. He knows Dean hates talking about Seth, and he hates talking about _feelings and shit_ , so putting the two together must be like hell for him. But he’s still willing to do it because he knows Roman needs to talk about it sometimes.

“I swear to god, stop lookin’ at me like that,” Dean mumbles, frowning around his straw. “I’m doing you a favor, not asking you to marry me.”

“Well, thank god for that.” Roman snorts. He leans back in his seat, still looking at Dean. “So how long did you practice what you were gonna say just then?”

“God, like, a week and a half, and I still did it shitty,” Dean says. He shoves his now-empty cup down into the cup holder, frowning. “I’m no good at this crap.”

“I think you’re as good as can be expected.” Roman taps out a pattern on his leg, considering what he’s going to say next. “Okay. If you’re sure you’re okay with it, then yeah, it’d be nice to have someone to talk to about it who gets it, sometimes.”

“I mean, I know it’s not exactly the same, since he’s, you know,” Dean says, gesturing wildly with one hand. Roman does not, in fact, know, but he nods anyway. “I’ve been having like a mental breakdown in front of the whole world anyway, might as well have it in front of you instead.”

Roman winces a little, but he’s been watching Dean’s fights with Seth, and he gets what he’s saying. Dean keeps switching between vicious, relentless violence and doing things like telling Seth he loves him in the middle of a fight, and Roman had thought at first that it was just Dean playing mind games, but it’s become clear that it’s really, really not. And Dean’s having just as much trouble with this as Roman is, he’s just expressing it in a much more _Dean_ way.

“I should probably be the one asking if you’re okay,” Roman says.

“You do,” Dean says. He glances over at Roman. “Like, every day, so don’t beat yourself up about it. We handle our shit differently. Your way’s probably healthier but mine works for me.”

“Sure, yeah. But I still want to know.” Roman licks his lips. “Are you okay?”

Dean wrinkles his nose, adjusting the rearview mirror and then sighing. “No,” he admits. “Not even a little. But I’m working on it.”

That’s where the conversation ends. It’s not abrupt, really, and it’s not because Dean’s insisting it does, but there’s not really anything else to say.

Roman groans when they step out of the car, finally at the hotel. “I don’t think cars were made with guys like us in mind,” he comments to Dean, pushing his knuckles against his own lower back. He needs a good night’s sleep on a firm mattress, preferably his own. A hotel mattress will do for tonight, but he’s longing for the mid-week lull in programming, when he’ll be able to go home and sleep for two days straight before it’s back out for the whirlwind of the Summerslam weekend.

Dean’s wincing, too, shifting from foot to foot and rolling his shoulder. It must’ve stiffened up during the drive and Roman frowns. He’d’ve driven more if he’d known that Dean was hurting.

“Shoulder okay?” he asks, trying to make it sound as offhand as possible. From the way Dean scowls and snatches his hand away from his shoulder, he didn’t quite succeed.

“It’s fine,” he says, nudging his door shut and coming around the back to open the trunk. He hefts his suitcase out with no problems, so it can’t be _too_ bad, and Roman’s probably going to be concerned about it for the rest of the day anyway.

“You gonna be okay for the show tonight?” Roman asks quietly while he gathers his own luggage. He can’t help that he worries. Dean should know that by now.

“I said it’s fine.” Dean doesn’t sound that annoyed, but there’s a warning in his voice, so Roman nods and backs off.

They always make sure to get separate rooms when they have a long drive from city to city. It’s not that they anticipate fighting or tension, really, it’s just… in case. If they need the space after being near each other for hours in such a cramped space. Sometimes – Dean especially, though Roman won’t lie and say he never needs it – sometimes Dean needs that distance, to get in or out of his own head. It’s better to let him have that than it is to have him try and force his way through it.

Doesn’t mean he lets Dean go off to his room without wrangling a hug out of him in the hallway, sideways and with a lot of grumbling, but Dean lets him have it.

“Meet up when it’s time to head to the arena?” he asks, unable to keep himself from ruffling the back of Dean’s hair. That earns him a narrow-eyed look of disdain.

“Course,” Dean mumbles, flapping his keycard at Roman. “Don’t be stupid. Got any plans for after the show?”

“Nope,” Roman replies. “You got any plans for _during_ the show?”

There’s something. Dean’s lips twitch. “I might,” he says vaguely. “Gotta keep the little asshole on his toes, don’t I?”

“Don’t kill him,” Roman advises. “You can’t have your match from jail.”

“You worry too much.” Dean is smiling now, not just the hint of one. “I, uh, might need your help at some point, though. I’ll let you know. How are you with tape?”

Roman’s pretty sure then that he doesn’t want to know, and he wants to know even less when he finds out what exactly Dean needs help doing.

He does it, of course, partially because it’s Dean asking and partially because it’s going to be fucking hilarious. He makes sure to be watching on a monitor for Seth’s match, and a smile curves his lips when Seth starts to peer at the wrapped presents on the stage. Smart guy. Didn’t get this far without using his head.

He dismisses that instinct, though, and he shouldn’t have, because Roman and Dean’s hard work culminates in Dean popping out of one of the goddamn presents and leaping onto Seth. Roman hopes Seth gets as much of a kick out of it as Roman is.

His phone buzzes while he’s getting packed up to leave, satisfied with his own win, and Dean’s chattering away, obviously pleased with his; despite not being a sanctioned match, he clearly beat Seth tonight.

Roman gives Dean a glance before he checks his phone. It’s from Seth.

**NOT FUNNY**

He has to cough to muffle a laugh. He can just see Seth now in his head, pacing and huffing, tapping out furious messages on his phone.

 **come on it was a little funny** he sends back. There’s no way Seth can know that Roman helped Dean with that stunt, can he?

Of course he can. Who else would have?

“You wanna get food before we get back or do you wanna just get room service?” Dean asks, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, his own phone held loosely in one hand. “I want a burger. I want, like, forty burgers.”

“You’re proud of yourself, aren’t you?” Roman asks while he tucks his phone back into his pocket. It buzzes while he does that, and he hesitates, but leaves it in his pocket. “Think you’re real cute?”

“Dude, that was fucking amazing and you know it.” Dean grins at him, dimples and all. He’s practically skipping as they move down the hallway. “I should get a medal. Get me a medal.”

“I’m not getting you a medal.” Roman shakes his head, but he can’t keep the smile off his face long enough to be convincing. “I will get you that burger, though. I’m driving.”

“What if I wanna drive?” Dean asks, now walking backwards down the hallway ahead of Roman. Roman’s not even going to tell him if he’s about to trip over something. It’d serve him right.

“That’s too damn bad, that’s what if you wanna drive.” Roman bobs his head at Dean. “Door.”

Dean doesn’t even hesitate. He just reaches a hand behind him while he’s still walking backwards and opens the door before he walks through it. What a dick.

“How – never mind,” Roman grumbles. Dean just looks smug. “Asshole.”

“You know, all this jealousy is going to affect our relationship,” Dean says, right before he stumbles over a traffic cone and nearly lands on his ass.

He buys Dean three burgers as a thank you for making him laugh so hard. He doesn’t check his phone until after he’s gotten back to his room, when he and Dean have made their plans for tomorrow’s drive to Seattle, and he has three messages from Seth. He kicks off his shoes before he reads them, settling back on his bed.

**I KNOW YOU HELPED HIM**

**I knew there was something up with the boxes I knew it**

**I’m going to kill him**

Roman smiles as he texts back. He’s in a good mood. He won (in a handicap match, for that matter) and Dean was in a good mood, which always puts him in a good mood, and he can’t even be that upset about death threats.

**don’t kill him. can’t have your match sunday from jail**

It’s the same damn thing he told Dean earlier. They really are more alike than either of them would probably want to admit.

On a whim, he sends another. **you alone?**

In the time it takes Seth to text back, Roman showers and changes into clothes he can actually sleep in. He’ll probably see if there are any grainy movies on the television in his room before he sleeps. While he’s brushing his teeth, he wanders back out into the main part of the hotel room to check his phone.

**We’ll get the lumberjacks to surround our cell. & yeah I’m alone tonight why?**

Roman rinses and spits before he replies by hitting the call button.

Minty fresh, he drops back down onto his bed and waits. It takes a few rings, but then the line clicks as the call is picked up.

“Hello?” Seth asks. He sounds confused.

“Hey,” Roman says. He can feel himself grinning, and how damn goofy it probably looks on his face. “What’s up?”

“Wasn’t really expecting this, honestly,” Seth says. It’s good to hear his voice. It’s only been a week since their conversation in the park but he still missed Seth’s voice talking to him. It’s so much different from the way he talks on the show or in the ring. On the phone, he sounds normal. Like he used to. If Roman forgets a couple things, he can pretend it’s exactly how it used to be, and he’s just calling Seth because.

“Yeah, it was kind of a spontaneous decision.” Roman licks his lips. “You said you’re alone tonight. That mean some nights you’re not alone?”

There’s a pause from Seth’s end, and then he says, “Uh. Sometimes I room with Kane?”

That wasn’t at all what Roman was expecting to hear, and he laughs before he can stop himself. “Shit. Really?”

“Yeah.” Seth sounds like he’s smiling, too, at least a little. “They, uh, you know, I think it’s a trust thing. They want to make sure I’m not secretly plotting to turn against them. My track record’s kind of abysmal with that sort of thing.”

“Guess Randy wouldn’t be too happy about you having late night chitchats with me,” Roman says. He’s not responding to the other thing. Secret plots, turning against people. Yeah. Sounds like Seth’s kind of thing.

“Fuck him,” Seth grumbles. “God, he’s unbearable. I wish _I_ could have a match against him on Sunday. He’s the most annoying person in the whole world.”

“Really? The whole world?” Roman asks. Seth’s near constant disdain for Orton is one of his better personality traits. Roman’s not exactly a fan of him, either. 

“The whole world,” Seth confirms. “You don’t have to see him outside of shows. I have to see him _all the time_ , and I have to play nice, and he constantly smells like someone just poured a bucket of Acqua Di Gio over his head. I could get high off the fumes.”

“Sounds shitty,” Roman offers. He’s still smiling. Seth sounds like Seth, mouthy as hell and unashamed of it, and Roman can picture him, one hand holding the phone to his ear while the other flaps in annoyance.

“It is. At least when I was around you guys I wasn’t ever in danger of suffocating.” Seth sighs heavily, and the sound scrapes against the speaker. “I’m still pissed off about the present thing, by the way.”

Roman snorts with laughter before he can shove it down, not that he would have. “Come on, it was hilarious. And how d’you know I helped him?”

“Who else would’ve?” Seth asks. That’s a good point. It’s kind of true. “Glad you found it funny. I got a stern talking to.”

“Like you care,” Roman scoffs. It’s a gamble, because there’s a chance Seth does care, but he sounds like old Seth, Roman’s Seth, and that Seth wouldn’t have cared.

“Well, fine, I don’t,” Seth says, and Roman breathes a quiet sigh of relief that he hopes the phone doesn’t pick up, “but it’s the principle of the thing. I mean, I _knew_ something was up, I knew it, I could fucking sense him, I knew he was there.”

“There wasn’t really anything you could’ve done about it,” Roman admits. “That’s why it was such a good plan. Either you rip open a beloved icon’s present to check and see if anyone’s inside and horrify the nation, or you, uh, what you did.”

“I need to _take my position more seriously_ ,” Seth mutters in such a mocking voice that Roman can tell it’s a direct quote. “And _I’d better not embarrass the Authority at Summerslam_. Like I’m the one who’s going to lose embarrassingly and not their other investment, who hasn’t won an important match in six months.”

“Wow, you really do not like him,” Roman comments, covering his smile with his hand even though there’s nobody else in the room to see him. 

“You’d better beat him,” Seth says. “Because if you lose, he’s going to gloat for the next hundred years, and I’m going to kick him in the throat.”

“I don’t plan on losing,” Roman says. The smile lingers on his face, but his words are serious.

Seth laughs, quietly. “I know. I’ll be rooting for you, whatever that’s worth.”

“More than you’d think,” Roman says, stretching his legs out on the bed. “It’s worth more than you’d think.”

“Oh,” says Seth. He sounds startled. “Oh, well, good, then.”

There’s a silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. It feels nice, actually, just sitting there, knowing Seth’s on the other end of the line.

“What’d you do today?” Seth finally asks. 

“The usual,” Roman replies. “Rode from Portland with Dean. We talked about you,” he admits. He’s not sure if that’s okay to mention, but it’s not like Seth will tell Dean about it, anyway.

“Oh, really? Let me guess, blood and death and tears,” Seth says. He sounds remarkably unconcerned for someone who thinks Dean’s planning his demise.

It’s that unconcern that makes Roman just annoyed enough to say, “I asked if he thought you hated him.”

Seth doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. “What’d he say?” he asks. His voice sounds a little weaker. Good.

“He said he didn’t know,” Roman replies. “I didn’t tell him. About what you told me. Not because – I think he should know. I just can’t figure out how to tell him.”

“I don’t,” Seth says, and it’s sudden, with a pause after like he wasn’t even expecting it. “Just, if you wanted to know. I don’t. Hate him, I mean.”

“You don’t?” Roman’s practically holding his breath. Seth’s implied as such, but if he’s said before now, then Roman can’t recall.

“No. I don’t. I don’t, I mean, I’m not a big fan of how he keeps jumping out of shit and ruining my night, but I don’t hate him. Most of the shit I say out there is just to make sure I keep my spot with the right people. Not that he’d know that.” He sighs. “Not that you’d know that.”

“I believe you,” Roman says softly. He waits a moment, deliberating, before he says, “He said you liked me better. Than him.”

“I mean, obviously,” Seth replies, with a quiet laugh that’s not really a laugh.

“Was it obvious?” Roman asks doubtfully. “I mean, to you it was, because you knew your whole thing, but he seemed to think it was really obvious, too.”

“Maybe because he has eyes?” Seth says. He sounds a little bewildered, which is good, because so is Roman. 

“Seriously?” Roman asks. He tries to think back, to before, when it was all just fine, and he can’t remember anything that would point to Seth blatantly liking him more than he liked Dean. “It was that obvious?”

“Uh, pretty obvious,” Seth says. He still sounds bewildered, but there’s this hint of amusement there now that Roman can’t figure out. “Considering, you know.”

“I clearly don’t know,” Roman says. “How about you spell it out for me? Considering what?”

There’s a pause. “Considering my giant embarrassing crush on you?” Seth says, slow and even, and still with vague levity.

Roman sits there quietly for a moment, but Seth doesn’t say, ‘Gotcha!’ and the silence drags on.

“What?” he asks.

“Oh my god,” Seth says. He doesn’t sound quite as lighthearted anymore. “Oh god, did you actually not know?”

“That depends,” Roman says, staring at his toes, “on whether or not you’re joking.”

“If I say I was, can we just forget this conversation ever happened?” Seth says. There’s a shuffle like he’s gotten up from where he was sitting. “I thought you knew and it just weirded you out. I didn’t think – It’s really obvious!”

“It is not!” Roman protests. He thinks furiously back, trying to think of times when he’s ever thought that Seth might – but he can’t remember any. He can’t remember thinking Seth ever liked him as more than a friend.

“I guarantee you it was,” Seth mumbles. He sounds like he’s talking against something, his hand or a pillow. “Oh my god. Oh my god, I can’t believe you didn’t know. I can’t believe you didn’t know and I just _told you_.”

“Hey, I don’t, you know I don’t, it’s not, this is just a lot,” Roman says weakly. “A lot to deal with. Not in a bad way, just in a, in an I didn’t know any of this but apparently everyone else did kind of way.”

“I don’t think everybody?” Seth offers. He still sounds embarrassed. “Dean, obviously, because he was there, but probably not anybody else who didn’t spend a lot of time with us. But it really wasn’t subtle at all. I was really, honestly, embarrassingly bad at hiding it.”

“Was?” Roman asks, before he can think not to.

Seth makes a frustrated noise. Roman wonders if he’s pacing or if he’s sat back down or if he’s just standing in place. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to.”

“I wouldn’t have asked the question if I didn’t want to know the answer,” Roman says, even though he definitely asked the question without being sure he wanted to know the answer. “Was?”

Another frustrated noise into the phone. “It’s a lot easier to manage when it’s just texts,” he says. “There’s less staring. For one thing.”

“So, uh, still, then?” Roman asks. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to feel. He’s not sure how he _does_ feel. His stomach is twisted in knots, and his face feels warm, and it’s not that he’s never been told before that someone has a crush on him, but. But it’s never been Seth. It hasn’t ever been Seth.

There’s a harsh crackling sound like Seth’s just blown into the phone, and then he says, “Yeah. Sorry. Yeah.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Roman says. His head is awhirl, but he knows he doesn’t want Seth to be sorry about it. “Like, fuck, it’s a surprise, you know? But don’t be sorry about it.”

“Hard not to be,” Seth replies. His laugh sounds forced. “It’s, uh. I’m sorry.”

“I said don’t be,” says Roman. “Really. It’s not a problem. I don’t, I don’t mind, or anything.”

Another pause from Seth. “I guess while we’re talking about it,” he mumbles, and then clears his throat. “Just so we’re, uh, clear, this is you saying you’re not interested, right? Just so I know? And maybe I can stop being so whatever over you?”

Roman opens his mouth to reply and then closes it again. It’s not – he – he hasn’t ever thought about it before. It hadn’t been an _option_ , because he was Roman and Seth was Seth, and he never would’ve thought, this never was on the table, except it apparently was, and he wasn’t paying attention.

He only realizes he’s been silent for a while when Seth groans.

“Come on, don’t do this to me,” Seth says. “You’re not, we both know you’re not. Just tell me you’re not so I’m not making an idiot out of myself anymore.”

“I didn’t know it was an option before thirty seconds ago,” Roman protests. He feels jittery, wants to stand up, walk around or hit something. “Can you give me a minute to catch up?”

“Why do you need a minute to catch up?” He can’t read anything in Seth’s voice now other than slight alarm. “Just say you’re not interested!”

“But what if I am?” Roman asks. It’s not what he’s expecting to say, but apparently tonight is a night for doing things he’s not expecting to do. He wasn’t expecting to call Seth in the first place, either. 

Another silence. Roman licks his lips and thinks about saying something else, but that’s it, really. What if he is? He doesn’t know. Now that he’s thinking about it, it seems like, well, but, but he needs to think. 

“Are you?” asks Seth. It’s so quiet that Roman almost doesn’t hear him.

“I don’t know,” Roman says. It sounds like a confession even though it’s anything but. He shoves a hand through his hair. “I need to think about it. Sometimes… sometimes I think maybe, and then I just didn’t let myself think about it? Because I didn’t know that’s what it was. I need to think about it.”

“Of course,” Seth says, and Roman can almost hear him backing off. “Yeah, of course, no problem. As long as you need. Whatever you want.”

“Seth,” says Roman. He can feel that smile twitching his lips again, because Seth hardly ever sounds frazzled like this, and even though the situation is serious, it’s hard for Roman not to smile that he managed to get that from him. He still feels warm, and his stomach fluttering, and he remembers how he’d felt when Seth had picked up the phone and Roman had heard his voice.

Shit. Maybe he won’t have to think about this for very long.

“Sorry,” Seth says, and he lets out a long breath on the other end. “Kind of got into the habit of not saying that a lot, but I think I’ve said it more tonight than I have my whole life.”

“And you still don’t have anything to be sorry for.” Roman clears his throat. “I, uh. Can I call you again tomorrow? After the show, maybe?”

“You can call me whenever you want,” Seth says. “I’d pick up even when I shouldn’t, probably.”

It sounds honest. Roman wonders, he wonders how often Seth’s thought things like that and then amended what he was going to say to make it sound less… to make it sound less.

Roman swallows. “Well, okay, good. I’ll do that, then. Not, not saying I’ll have an answer by then,” he warns. “But I, uh, I guess I’ve missed talking to you with voices. Hearing you talk on the show is different.”

“It is,” Seth agrees. “It is for me, too. Sometimes I just, ha,” he says, speaking a laugh without actually laughing. “Sometimes I just say whatever I know’s gonna hurt the most. And saying it out loud to you’s the first time I’ve thought about how fucked up that is.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of fucked up.” Especially when Roman’s the one Dean comes back to, after Seth’s said something foul to him in front of the entire world. 

“Yeah.” Seth sighs. “We all have parts to play. Mine’s just more of an asshole than everyone else’s.”

“Is that what it is?” Roman asks. “A part you’re playing?”

Another silence. Roman thinks they might have done more not-talking than they’ve done talking on this call.

“Answer seems to change depending on the day. Ask me tomorrow and it might be different,” Seth says.

Roman is struck with a sense of déjà vu. Didn’t Dean say something like that in the car this morning?

He checks the time on the clock beside the bed. Yesterday morning. He should really get to bed.

“I should get to bed,” he says aloud. “We’ve still got a drive tomorrow to get to the next show.”

“Yeah,” says Seth. “Yeah, of course. I shouldn’t have held you up.”

“I’m the one that called you,” Roman points out. “And I’m a grown man. I can keep track of my own bedtime.”

“Right.” Seth laughs for real this time. “Sorry. Shit. I mean, uh, not sorry. Unapology.”

That was cute. Has Seth always been cute? Has Roman always thought Seth was cute?

“Unapology accepted,” Roman says, still half-stuck on that other thought. “Get some sleep, okay? I don’t know if you have a match tomorrow or not, but get some sleep anyway.”

“I’ll do my best.” Roman can hear the smile in Seth’s voice. “You too. Sleep well. And thanks for not, you know, freaking out. About the other thing.”

“I wouldn’t have,” Roman says. He thinks that’s important for Seth to know. “Even if I had thought about it before, and I definitely didn’t return the feelings. It wouldn’t have changed that you’re—“ _my best friend, and I love you, and you’re my brother, you’re_ Seth _, and nothing could ever change that for me_ “—you. Okay?”

“Very inspirational,” Seth says. That smile Roman heard before is still there. “Yeah. Thanks. I didn’t think you were the kind of person it’d matter to, I guess. You don’t seem the type.”

“I’m not.” Roman glances at the time again. “Just wanted to make sure you knew that. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Can’t wait.” It’s said in that edging on sarcastic voice Seth’s been favoring on television lately, which grates on Roman’s nerves, but there’s just enough honest pleasure in the statement that Roman leaves it.

“Goodnight, dickhead,” Roman says diplomatically. Well, he mostly leaves it, anyway.

Seth laughs, a quick burst of it that makes Roman feel quietly satisfied. Content. “Night, Roman. Sweet dreams.”

When Roman ends the call, he tosses his phone down to the other end of the bed. How can he get to sleep with all of this new information rattling around in his head? How’s he supposed to ride to the next town tomorrow with Dean and manage to stop himself from grabbing Dean by the shoulder and shouting questions at him about whether or not he knew? How’s he supposed to figure out how he feels when he already knows that he shouldn’t feel anything at all?

He knows he likes Seth. That much is obvious, considering Seth hit him with a chair and Roman’s still willing to talk to him. Considering Seth fucks over Roman’s best friend week after week, and Roman told him to have a good night’s sleep. Considering Seth’s working with – even if he doesn’t like him – the guy Roman’s facing at the pay-per-view this Sunday.

So, obviously he likes Seth. But does he like Seth?

Roman thinks about it. Does he? Knowing that the option is there, that he’s allowed to, does he? He’s always known, objectively speaking, that Seth’s a good-looking guy. Seth’s also funny and intelligent and confident and Roman always noticed those things, first.

He closes his eyes and pictures Seth. Okay, it’s Seth. He’s not sure exactly what he’s trying to look for, and then he realizes he’s smiling absently to himself.

Huh. Okay. Well, there’s that. At least he’s got something to work off of now.

He’s still thinking about the whole conversation when he meets Dean the next morning in the hotel lobby after he checks out. Dean looks like he’d really enjoy a coffee, rumpled and grumpy, and he wrinkles his nose at Roman when he sees him. 

“How do you look like that at this time of the morning?” Dean asks, his eyes hidden by sunglasses as they both pull their suitcases out the front door. It’s not the first time he’s asked that in the years they’ve been traveling together, and Roman’s answer never changes.

“Conditioner,” he says, squinting against the blinding sunlight outside. Their car’s on the far side of the parking lot, and by the time they’re halfway to it, his shirt’s sticking to his back, and he’s fishing into his duffel to find the sunglasses he tossed in there last night while he was packing.

“How fucked up is your shoulder?” Roman asks, pushing the sunglasses onto his head so he can properly frown at Dean. “And don’t give me any bullshit.”

Dean makes a face at him. “I’m s’posed to be able to stop wrapping it sometime this week, as long as I don’t fuck it up in my match tonight. Which I’ll do my best not to. It’ll be fine by Sunday.”

“Okay, you can take the second half of the drive, then.” Roman digs the keys out of his pocket. “Once you’ve gotten your caffeine fix.”

“Hey, not complaining.” Dean shuts the trunk once both of their bags are in. “Long as you at least let me drive some of it. It’s a busted shoulder, not an amputated arm. I can drive just fine.”

“You can’t drive just fine when both your arms are working.” Roman smiles. Some things never change. “Starbucks or Dunkin?”

“When do they get the pumpkin flavored shit in?” Dean asks, swinging around to the passenger door. “I want pumpkin flavored fuckin’ everything, man. Find me a pumpkin burger.”

“It’s August,” Roman points out, sliding into the driver’s seat. “And that sounds disgusting. You are disgusting.”

“Yeah, and you still hang out with me, so what’s that say about you?” Dean grins at him, the wide one that’s more baring his teeth than anything, carves his dimples deep in his cheeks.

“Nothing good, man, nothing good.” Roman reaches over to ruffle Dean’s hair before he starts the car. “I’m stopping at whichever one I see first. You want the usual since they’re not going to have the pumpkin shit in August?”

“Mhm.” Dean is busy fiddling with the air conditioning, turning it up as high as it goes. No wonder, he’s wearing a hoodie even though it’s something like seventy-five degrees out. He yanks his hood up over his head once the air’s how he wants it, and pops his gum. “Sleep okay?”

“Not bad,” says Roman. It’s not completely a lie. He had been able to get to sleep eventually, after all, and what sleep he did get was pretty solid. “How about you?”

“Mm.” That means he didn’t sleep well at all, but he was hoping Roman wasn’t going to ask about it. Roman’s pretty fluent in Dean. “You ever have dreams you can’t remember?”

Well, that wasn’t a question Roman was expecting. He takes a second to think about it. “Yeah, I guess. Or like, wake up and remember it but it fades away really quickly.” He glances over at Dean. “Why?”

Dean’s frowning. “Nothin’, I guess. Had a dream last night and couldn’t remember it when I woke up. Just felt really weird.”

“Bad weird?” Roman asks.

“Yeah,” says Dean. “Out of breath and shit. Kept trying to remember what it was about but I couldn’t. Just felt weird.” He pauses. “Got a weird feeling about the show tonight.”

That’s not good. Even if Dean just had a weird dream, that doesn’t bode well for his mindset tonight. Whether or not his bad feeling has roots in anything solid, Roman just knows it’s going to fester, digging at Dean’s brain until he’s convinced himself the worst is going to happen.

“What kind of weird feeling?” Roman asks, keeping both hands on the wheel. He’s trying to sound casual about it. No use in getting Dean more worked up than he needs to be.

“Bad,” Dean replies. Well, so much for that. “Just a bad feeling. I dunno. It’s probably nothing.”

He’s still frowning, though, when Roman looks over. But he changes the subject, and Roman doesn’t want to bring it up again if Dean’s determined to let it lie.

It’s not the longest drive in the world, but by the time they make it to the hotel, Dean at the wheel, Roman feels like he could sleep for a week. Extended car rides are never good for his back, which still twinges on occasion from the span of two days a month and a half ago where he’d taken about fifty chair shots.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to sleep for a week. They have about two hours to stuff their luggage in their rooms and grab food before they head back out to a new arena. Roman loves his job more than anything, but the hectic schedule sometimes drains him so much he can’t think. The Monday-Tuesday slapdash of travel and shows is the hardest, and then with the weekend coming up, and Summerslam… Roman’s just going to have to get used to working tired for a while. Nature of the beast.

The arena is hot, packed with all the other performers and the crew and producers milling backstage. It’s actually a relief when Roman gets to change into his gear. It has no sleeves and the material of it is actually breathable, which is better than what he’d been wearing. He has no idea how Dean wrestles in denim. He has no idea how Seth wrestles in his Catwoman suit.

He’s just had that thought, on his way to find out what he’s expected to do for the Miz’s stupid talkshow, when he passes the very man he was thinking of. Seth’s dressed for the show already, too, ring gear and all, a shiny new t-shirt of his very own. He looks up, like he can sense eyes on him, and Roman accidentally wonders what it’d be like to kiss him.

That’s such a startling thing for him to think that he almost doesn’t notice the actual expression on Seth’s face. In between wondering why the hell he thought what he just thought and thinking more about what he just thought, he watches the way Seth’s face goes through a series of emotions. Roman recognizes them all. First is surprise, then embarrassment, then it settles on guilt.

Roman narrows his eyes. Why guilt? What does Seth have to feel guilty about?

He finds out when, mid-show, he gets a text from Seth that says, **Sorry about this**

What the hell does that mean? A gnawing feeling grows in Roman’s stomach as he looks up at the monitor. Dean’s match is on. That’s not a good sign, is it? Dean was right to have a bad feeling about the show tonight, because even though he gets the win in his match, his night’s not over.

At first, when Seth goes out there, Roman thinks it’s just the same as it has been. He’ll spit a few lines of bullshit and then be on his merry way. He figures out that it’s different around the same time he can tell that Dean in the ring figures out it’s different – Seth says _hellcat with rabies_ like Dean’s existence is a personal affront to him, and he doesn’t stop talking.

 _Who was never my friend_ – Roman doesn’t want to hear this, but Dean has to, is being forced to, so Roman won’t be a coward and turn it off – _who was never my brother,_ – Seth says it with such disgust, with so much disdain in his voice, Roman wants to throw up – _and who I never gave a damn about in the first place._

Onscreen, Dean has his eyes closed, and a look on his face like Roman’s never seen before. He just knows it makes him want to rip Seth’s limbs off one by one.

He replies to Seth’s text with **too far**

He waits in the locker room for Dean to get back. His match isn’t until the end of the show, and he already knows Dean isn’t okay, and he already knows there’s no way he can _make_ it okay, but if he didn’t try, he’d never be able to forgive himself.

The door nudges open. Roman hadn’t known if Dean would manage anger by the time he got back, but it looks like he’s still stuck on exhausted and distraught. He slips through the door, still sweaty and mussed from his match, and he leans back against the door to close it.

Dean looks down at the floor for a minute, and Roman lets him.

When Dean finally lifts his head, he looks at Roman with a bewildered, lost look on his face.

“He was my best friend,” Dean says quietly. “He was my best fucking friend.”

Roman is going to kill Seth with his bare hands. “I know,” he says. He doesn’t know what else to say. He’s almost positive Seth didn’t mean any of the vile shit he said out there, but it’s not like he can say that to Dean. It’s not like Dean would believe him. Roman’s not even sure he believes himself. What do you say? Roman tries to think of what he’d want to hear if it had been him Seth had said those things to. It makes his stomach tie itself in knots. He can’t even imagine it without it hurting, and he _knows_ Seth likes him.

For Dean, this must feel worse than any bruise Seth could punch into him, worse than any submission hold. Dean had two people in his life, as far as Roman can tell, that he’s said anything remotely like _I love you_ out loud to. And now one of them’s said they never gave a shit about him.

Roman pulls Dean into a hug, and Dean doesn’t resist. He rests his head on Roman’s shoulder, and his arms wind around Roman’s back. They stand there so long Roman gets a cramp in his arm, but he doesn’t let go.

“You have a match,” Dean finally says, his words muffled against Roman’s neck.

“Fuck it,” Roman mutters. “It’s the Miz. You’re more important.”

Dean laughs, which is a good sign. Roman’s neck isn’t wet, which is another. He was half expecting it to be. “Go have your match,” he instructs, and for a second, Roman genuinely thinks about refusing, about telling Dean to hell with it and just leaving, driving back to the hotel or driving anywhere else. Hell, he’ll put Dean on a plane with him to Florida and take him home.

But Dean’s stubborn, and he wouldn’t let that happen, anyway, so Roman gives him another squeeze, rubs the back of Dean’s neck. “You’re more important,” he repeats, but he does let go.

“You said that already,” Dean says. He’s trying for a smile, but it doesn’t hold on his face. “Seriously. I’ll be fine. You go have your match. I’ll watch it on the thing.” He makes a half-hearted gesture toward the monitor.

“Don’t go anywhere, okay?” says Roman. He doesn’t think Dean would go back to the hotel by himself, but if he crosses over from sad to angry, then he might try looking for Seth, and that wouldn’t be a good idea. Seth’s never far from backup these days.

Dean snorts. “Trust me, I don’t feel like going anywhere.”

He sits down as though to punctuate his point, looking up at Roman in almost challenge and then shooing him away.

“Go,” he says. “Kick his ass. I’ll stay here like a good boy.”

Sure enough, when Roman gets back from his match, another victory under his belt, Dean’s still sat in their locker room. He’s moved, sat in a different chair, his packed bag at his feet, and the monitor’s been turned off, but he’s still there. He looks up at Roman and seems a little less off balance than he was when Roman had left.

“Good match,” he says, tossing Roman a bottle of water. It’s cold, which means he had to have been out of this room to get it, and Roman rolls his eyes. But Dean’s obviously not any worse for wear, so he doesn’t comment on it.

“Thanks,” he says, twisting the top off the water. He downs half of it in one go. “Though, if I couldn’t get a win over Miz of all people, I don’t think I deserve to have a big match Sunday at all,” he points out.

“That’s our Intercontinental Champion you’re talking about,” Dean comments mildly.

“Least until the pay-per-view,” Roman mutters before he downs the rest of his water. “Dolph’s hungry for it.”

“Doesn’t have the best luck in high stakes matches, though,” replies Dean. He’s digging through his bag, and continues to comment offhand about who has the upper hand between Miz and Ziggler while Roman pulls his phone from his bag. Dean loves that shit, discussing potential strategy in matches he’s not even in, weighing opponents against each other. He’s right an awful lot of the time, too. Roman wishes that was something that could be taught as much as it’s something that develops naturally.

He notices immediately that he has two new texts from Seth, but that’s not really the important part. He notices that he has two texts from Seth because his phone’s not locked, already open to his conversation history with Seth. Which makes sense, because the last person he texted was Seth. But he usually locks his phone when he’s finished with it. He locked it before he put it in his bag, didn’t he?

Roman frowns at his phone. He’s not reading the messages from Seth yet anyway. He needs to calm down first, before he can talk to Seth without any shouting or threats. That’s still weird, though. He looks up at Dean, carefully unwinding the bandages from his shoulder, and then he looks back down at his phone.

He’s almost positive he locked it. But Dean’s the only one who could’ve unlocked it and that would mean that Dean’s seen his conversations with Seth. That would mean Dean would know he’s been _having_ conversations with Seth. Roman never put Seth’s contact information back in his phone, but Dean would recognize the number and within a few messages, it’d become obvious who Roman was talking to.

He probably just forgot to lock it. If Dean had seen that Roman was talking to Seth, he definitely wouldn’t be all fucking calm about it. Roman’s getting worked up for nothing. He double checks to make sure he’s locked it this time, and drops it back into his bag.

“Hey, I’m gross,” he says to get Dean’s attention. Dean snorts when he looks up, carefully rolling his shoulder. “I’m gonna shower. You good for like fifteen?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna be doing this shit for like an hour,” Dean grumbles, waving the roll of bandages at Roman. “I’ll probably see if the trainers have left yet, bum some ice off them. It’s _fine_ ,” he adds at Roman’s look of concern. “Just twinges a little. Go take your shower.”

“Shout if you need me,” Roman says, and Dean gives him an exasperated look before Roman disappears through the door to make his way to the big locker room where there are actual showers. He can take a more thorough one at the hotel, but post-match grime isn’t exactly something he likes staying on him more than it needs to.

Once he’s clean, or at least cleaner, he feels capable of reading the messages Seth left. He opens the conversation on his phone while he’s taking a roundabout way back to where he left Dean, absently waving at the people who say goodbye as they pass him.

**I know**

**I don’t know what to do**

Roman frowns at the second message. The first is, well, at least Seth knows what he said was going too far, crossing a line he shouldn’t have crossed. He apologized to Roman, but Roman’s not the one he was saying that shit to.

 **i’m not the one you needed to say sorry to** he sends, and then, **don’t know what to do about what ?**

He gets a reply almost before his second message is sent.

**You still calling me later?**

Roman lets out a sigh. He’d like to say no, absolutely not, there’s no way. He’s going to make sure Dean’s okay first, definitely, but his flight home tomorrow is later in the day, so he can sleep in at least a little. He can afford to stay up late tonight. He doesn’t know how late Seth will be, but Seth’s the one who should be making sacrifices here. Roman’s made enough for him already.

**depends on how late you’ll be up**

He’s nearly back to the locker room. He slows down, measuring his steps carefully, and pauses outside the door when he gets Seth’s response in two parts.

**Until whenever you call me. I know I fucked up**

**He wouldn’t believe me but you do. I am sorry**

Roman lets out another sigh, shoving his phone back into the bag with his ring gear and pushing into the locker room. Dean’s icing his shoulder. That’s good, at least.

“You ready to get out of here?” he asks, leaning against the door jamb. Dean hops up without any additional commentary, keeping the ice pressed to his shoulder. “You sure you’re okay?”

Roman immediately cringes. What a stupid question. He only meant Dean’s shoulder, but obviously he’s not okay – there are still hints of that despair he’d seen when Dean first got back to the locker room on the edges of his face. But Dean doesn’t point out Roman’s horrifying insensitivity. He just rolls his eyes and shoots Roman a glare.

“Swear to god, you ask me if my shoulder’s okay one more time, I’m gonna punch you just to show you how okay it is,” he says.

Roman holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay, you’re right. I won’t ask anymore. I just worry about you.”

“God, I _know_ , it’s so annoying,” Dean says, smiling sideways at Roman. He doesn’t look all the way okay, not yet, maybe not even by the time Roman gets some pizza and alcohol in him, but he looks like he’ll get there again eventually, and that’s better than Roman was expecting.

Honestly, he’d been worried that this is what would do it, what would hurt Dean so deeply that Roman couldn’t even begin to pull him out of it. He should have known better. Dean’s always been the strong one out of the two of them.

Roman orders pizza from the car on the way to the hotel, and Dean demands everything from anchovies to zucchini on his, so Roman gets him pepperoni. Dean sighs heavily, but when Roman points out he wouldn’t have eaten all that shit anyway, and he would’ve tried to convince Roman to split his, Dean doesn’t exactly deny it. He just gets huffy and sulks for a minute or two.

He eats the pizza when it comes, and looks simply delighted to be eating one with pepperoni instead of anchovies. Roman doesn’t say he told him so. He just shoves a six pack at him. Maybe some people would say it’s unhealthy to console Dean with calories and alcohol, but it’s worked for as long as Roman’s known him, so he’s not going to change what gets shit done.

Dean with most of the mini bar and a substantial amount of beer in him is pretty similar to Dean sober, just more prone to breaking into song and trying to kiss people. 

There’s also a lot of sprawling himself across Roman’s lap and sighing, which Roman was expecting.

“I don’t understand what I did, y’know?” Dean asks, using Roman’s thigh as a rest for his head. “Everything was fine. It was _fine_ and now he _hates_ me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Roman soothes. He does actually know that for a fact, or at least, Seth told him that. Whether or not he can really believe it is another story. Either way, it’s not exactly something he can tell Dean.

“He does,” Dean insists. “He never liked me. How could he never like me?”

Dean looks so despondent that Roman has to lay a hand on his head, smooth his hair back behind his ear. “Of course he liked you,” he says helplessly. “Year and a half, we had together where he liked you.”

“I _thought_ so,” Dean says, waving a hand in Roman’s direction. “But he _hates_ me. I’m tryin’ really hard to hate him and he’s such a fuckin’ _asshole_ and I can’t do it but he can hate me. What’d I _do_?”

“You didn’t do anything,” Roman says. That much is true, at least in Roman’s opinion. Sure, maybe Dean screwed around with Seth back in developmental, but definitely not as much as all three of them have screwed around with people since. You start feuding with someone, sometimes it gets ugly. You get over it and you move on. You don’t hold a grudge for two years and then try to destroy a guy from the inside out.

“I did _something_.” Dean tries halfheartedly to drink from a near-empty beer and only succeeds in spilling some down his neck. “Obviously. Or he wouldn’t be all…” He gestures wildly with the bottle. “This.”

“How do you know it’s not something we both did?” Roman asks. He knows, of course, but Dean’s not privy to the same information Roman is.

Except Dean snorts, heaving himself up to go find another beer and then dropping back down where he was. “Cause he wanted to fuck your brains out,” he mumbles.

Roman stares down at Dean, whose tongue is poking out the corner of his mouth while he tries to pop the lid off his bottle. That’s not exactly what he was expecting Dean to say, but he did say it, and more than that, said it like Roman was an idiot for thinking anything else might come out of his mouth.

“What?” he asks, finally, and Dean looks up at him, frowning. It would be comical if it wasn’t happening now, the way Roman can _see_ the expression on Dean’s face change while he retraces his steps through what he just said. Finally, realization dawns on his face.

“Oh, you didn’t know that part,” Dean says, which both is and isn’t true, but Roman shakes his head anyway. God damn it, that means Seth was right, and Dean did notice, which means Roman is absolutely the stupid one here. “Uh, I don’t think he wanted you to know.”

“Since when do you care what Seth wants?” Roman asks, honestly curious. How hasn’t Dean spilled the beans about this before? It’s so hard to have this conversation when he and Dean both know the same side of the story but he can’t let on that he does. Then again, will Dean even remember this in the morning? He’s been chugging his way through beers like they’re water, and Roman had to pull out the secret second six-pack much sooner than he’d anticipated.

Dean scowls at his still unopened beer, and Roman takes it from him, pops the top off with a twist of his palm and hands it back to Dean.

“I dunno,” Dean says with a grateful look up at Roman, sitting up a little so that he doesn’t spill this one. Sometimes, being friends with Dean Ambrose is a lot like being friends with a very tall toddler. Has trouble walking and needs someone to follow him around with a rag to wipe up his messes. “S’just one of those things, y’know? We didn’t _talk_ about it.”

Dean says the word ‘talk’ like the concept is entirely foreign to him.

“How’d you know, then?” Roman’s hand returns to Dean’s hair, and he makes a pleased sound at it. Hopefully, Roman can keep him distracted and, well, drunk enough not to notice that Roman’s not exactly surprised at the revelation.

Dean hums, then hoists himself up, twisting to rest with Roman against the headboard instead of with his head on Roman’s leg. Now it’s on Roman’s shoulder, instead, and Roman slips an arm around his waist to keep him upright. Dean always runs hot, warmer than the average human does, and Roman can feel how warm he is through his shirt. It’s like having a portable heater. Well, as portable as Dean ever is.

Roman blinks, and shakes his head. He’s getting drunk off the fumes, he thinks.

“I dunno, he wanted to bang you,” Dean mutters, sighing heavily against Roman’s shoulder. “Looked at you like he wanted to bang you when he thought you weren’t lookin’.” 

Roman tries to imagine what that expression would be on Seth’s face, but has to stop. Not something he can think too hard about with Dean still half on top of him and drunk and clingy. They shouldn’t even be talking about Seth at all, probably, not when Seth’s the reason Dean’s as upset as he is, but Dean had brought him up. If Dean needs to talk about it, Roman’ll talk about it with him.

“You were looking, though?” Roman asks. “Must’ve been, to catch that when I didn’t.”

Dean doesn’t say anything for a moment. “I was always looking,” he mutters, then takes another swig from his bottle. “Don’t think he ever noticed.”

Roman frowns. “What do you mean?” he asks carefully. He knows what it _sounds_ like it means, but he’s obviously not very good at noticing things so there’s a pretty good chance he’s just misinterpreting.

Dean rolls his head on Roman’s shoulder and then downs the rest of his beer. “I need another beer,” he states, and for a long, horrible moment, Roman thinks that’s it, and he’s just going to have to assume what he was assuming, and Dean’s not going to ever say anything else on the topic. He keeps talking, though, as he slips off the bed to get yet another bottle. “He was all caught up in, y’know, you. Anybody who was lookin’ could tell he was like, y’know.”

Well, that was almost coherent. Roman relaxes a little. “So you just happened to look at the right times?” he asks for clarification.

“Mm,” says Dean from where he’s crouched, trying with everlasting futility to open his own beer this time. Roman’s distracted enough from the line of conversation by it that he leaves it, holding out his hand.

“C’mon, give it, I’ll do it for you,” he says.

“I got it,” Dean mutters, but he does stand back up, toddling his way back over to the bed with the beer in one hand and the rest of the carton in the other. He plunks the carton down on the night table for easy access and crawls back onto the bed, handing his bottle to Roman with a distinct sulk to his lower lip. “Sorry,” he says suddenly.

Roman’s mouth turns down while he twists off Dean’s cap for him. “What the hell are you sorry for?” he asks. Dean’s not ever sorry for being drunk, as far as Roman’s experienced, and since Roman’s usually the one _getting_ him drunk, that apology should be his to give, anyway. He can’t think of any other reason, though, that Dean would be apologizing.

Dean looks him in the eye, and Roman’s almost startled by it. He hadn’t realized until just now that Dean hasn’t looked him head-on since… since he got back after his match, after what Seth had said.

“For whatever I did that made him leave you, too,” Dean says quietly. He doesn’t look self-deprecating about it, either. Just matter of fact, like this is something he knows is his fault and he’s trying to make amends.

It makes Roman ache and all he can say is, “No, no,” because it wasn’t Dean’s _fault_ that Seth makes stupid decisions for stupider reasons, and it’s not Dean’s fault that Seth still tears him apart every week. It’s not Dean’s fault that Seth left. Seth left because he wanted to go. Whether he ever wanted to stay – whether it was a hard decision or not – Seth wanted to go, and so he did. They were baggage that he dropped and none of that is Dean’s fault whether Seth wants to say it is or not.

“Don’t,” Dean says, but that’s all he says, and Roman hugs him anyway. It doesn’t line up right, Dean’s face smashed against Roman’s shoulder, knees jammed into thighs and elbows in ribs and Dean smells like cheap beer and now the bed does, too, because Dean’s jerked and spilled it all over, but he sighs and relaxes, just a little bit, and that little bit makes it worth the bruise Roman’s sure he’s going to have on his inner thigh.

“It wasn’t your fault,” says Roman. It’s said as firmly as he can make it. “He made his decision. You can’t blame yourself for it, that’ll tear you apart, man. He left. _He_ left. He _left_.”

Dean mumbles something against Roman’s shoulder, reaching out without looking to push his opened beer back into its hole in the carton. Roman only catches the last half of his sentence, “—he knows?” and he doesn’t know how to answer, so he just pats Dean’s back. Dean doesn’t seem like he was expecting an answer, either, from the way he burrows further into Roman. 

When Dean squirms, pulling against Roman’s grip like a dog who doesn’t want to be picked up, Roman releases his grip without complaining, but Dean doesn’t go far, leaning back just enough to look Roman in the eye again. Roman’s expecting another unwarranted apology and braces for it, but Dean just frowns a little, his eyes focusing on Roman in that way that’s always just a little unsettling. Having Dean’s full attention can sometimes feel like having the full attention of a great white shark or a grizzly bear. Rare and potentially deadly if you don’t duck fast enough.

“What?” Roman finally asks, though he doesn’t particularly want to upset the balance. Dean presses his lips together, nods, and keeps watching him. Roman doesn’t ask again. He just lets Dean look. He guesses this is probably another one of those Dean things that make perfect sense to him and no sense to anybody else.

Finally, Dean mutters, audibly, “I miss my beer,” and he twists to retrieve it, then plops himself back down next to Roman, knees pulled to his chest.

“I don’t understand half the shit you do, man,” Roman mumbles in return, but he can’t manage to keep all of the fond affection out of his voice, and Dean snorts.

“Y’love me anyway,” Dean says, knocking his bottle against the inside of his knee a few times. It’s rhythmic, a pattern. Dean likes patterns. Symmetry. Parallels. He’d tried to explain it to Roman a few times, but it never sticks.

“Yeah, guess I do, don’t I?” Roman says. He gives Dean’s hair a perfunctory ruffle, and Dean bats him away, and neither of them mentions Seth the rest of the time Roman’s there.

By the time he gets Dean in bed, lingering beer smell and all, it’s verging on two in the morning and Roman’s tired, but his phone is burning a hole in his pocket and he already knows he’s still going to call Seth. He shouldn’t. Seth doesn’t deserve it. But he’s going to. Whether it’s just to get answers or whether it’s because it’s Seth and Roman can’t leave the past in the past, that’s a little more complicated.

He unlocks his phone when he gets into his own room, then locks it again, leaving it on his side table while he gets ready for bed. He doesn’t know how long this phone call’s going to take, but he does know that he’s not going to want to get up and go through his nightly routine once it is. He’s already exhausted. The only thing keeping him awake is the buzzing, jangling energy that comes in jolts when he thinks about this phone call with Seth, and when he accidentally remembers what it had felt like when he thought about kissing him at the arena earlier tonight.

He hasn’t tried to think about anything else, anything other than kissing. Partially because he just hasn’t had time, and partially because every time he tries, he feels a deep-seated need to get up and walk around for a while.

Once he’s brushed his teeth and made sure his bag’s packed and showered and put clean clothes on, and he realizes that he can’t actually put this off any longer, he takes a deep breath and picks up his phone again. This is fine. He can do this. Just a phone call.

Seth answers on the first ring.

“Hey, hi,” he says. He sounds tired. Roman would apologize for keeping him up this late, but, well, Roman didn’t make him, and it’s Seth’s fault Roman had to stay up with Dean anyway. He can feel that sour anger pulling on him, telling him that this fluttery, warm feeling in his stomach is no good. He knows that, but it’s still hard to force it back. It’s hard, once he’s thought about kissing Seth, not to think about it all the time. Even when he knows he shouldn’t.

“Hey,” Roman says. “You been up this whole time?”

“Uh, most of it,” Seth admits. He still sounds a little drowsy, but it’s quickly clearing up, becoming alert and focused. “I think I dozed off for a little while about an hour ago. Not really used to staying up this late.”

“Yeah, I remember.” Roman licks his lips. That’s what this is all about, kind of. He remembers. He remembers what Seth is like, remembers his sleeping schedule and what foods he hates and, hell, what kind of laundry detergent he uses. He remembers all those things about Seth. It would be so much easier to hate him if he didn’t remember any of them.

“I was, uh, I was kind of worried you’d decide not to bother,” Seth says. “Not that I would’ve, I wouldn’t have blamed you. Really. I was just worried.”

“Thought about it,” says Roman bluntly. “Almost didn’t. But I told you I would. And I don’t break my word.”

It’s a cheap dig. Roman doesn’t care. He thinks he’s earned a cheap dig or two in this situation.

“Yeah,” Seth says. “Yeah. I, uh, yeah. I guess I owe you an explanation.”

“Nah,” says Roman. He can tell it surprises Seth from the silence on the other end. “You don’t owe me shit, man. The only person you owe an explanation to is Dean, and you’re not gonna give him one, so I’d really rather you didn’t bullshit one all special for me.”

“Oh,” says Seth. It sounds withered and miserable and it makes Roman feel bad, and he hates that it does. Because he hasn’t said anything that’s not the truth, that’s not what Seth deserves, he hasn’t said worse to Seth than Seth’s said to Dean in the past few weeks and Seth shouldn’t get to feel bad. Seth shouldn’t get to be upset by shit when Roman’s the one who has to put Dean back together when Seth keeps taking him apart.

He sighs. “What’s your explanation, anyway? Triple H made you do it? You have to keep up appearances? In developmental once, Dean stepped on your toe? What makes any of the shit you said tonight okay?”

“It doesn’t,” Seth says. “It doesn’t, that’s what I meant, that’s all I wanted to tell you. It doesn’t make it okay. It wasn’t okay and I’m sorry, and I can’t tell him that, so I’m telling you. And I know it’s not enough. I know it’s not enough, I know.”

He trails off at the end, and Roman sits back on his bed, listening to the absence of sound on the line.

“Okay,” he finally says. “Why’d you do it, then?”

He hears Seth let out a sigh. “Remember, when I told you sometimes I just say whatever I know’s going to hurt the most?”

“Mhm. And we talked about how fucked up that is. You agreed that it’s fucked up,” Roman points out.

“I did. It is,” Seth confirms. “But I was told to go out there and say whatever I could to get in his head. I know that’s not an excuse, and I’m not trying to make it one, I’m not trying to say it is. But I have a position to keep and a part to play. Sometimes that means I have to do things I don’t want to do.”

“That supposed to make me feel sorry for you?” Roman says flatly, and Seth groans.

“No, no, it’s not, it’s just how it is. It’s like – meetings,” Seth says, seizing upon with word with audible desperation. “Like all those long, boring meetings I have to go to. I don’t want to go to them but I have to, so I do.”

“For fuck’s sake, Seth, I’m not asking you to start being his best friend again,” Roman says. He has to consciously quiet down when he notices his voice raising. “I just want you to stop making him _cry_.” 

The silence then is so quiet Roman can hear his own heartbeat thudding in his ears.

“He cried?” Seth asks. Roman almost doesn’t hear him.

“No,” Roman grumbles. “Why? You got a bet you’re looking to win? Hundred bucks on who can make Dean Ambrose actually lose his goddamn mind before Summerslam?”

“No, I just – do you really think I’m just incapable of human compassion?” Seth wants to know. “I know maybe I haven’t done a lot to make you believe me but I didn’t – I never – thought it would get this bad,” he says. “I never thought that I’d end up being the person that I am now, and I hate that I can’t tell if it’s in a good or a bad way.”

“Trust me, it’s bad,” Roman says bluntly. “All the briefcases in the world won’t make up for being a piss poor excuse for a person. You need to figure out what matters more to you. What do you care about? Do you even care about anything anymore?”

“Yeah,” Seth says, in something that sounds like a scoff. “You. That’s not turning out so well for me.”

Roman growls wordlessly, and gives in to the urge to get up and start pacing. “What do you want from me?” he asks. Seth starts to say something, and Roman cuts him off. “No, what do you expect me to do? You hit me with a chair, you torment my best friend for weeks, you tell me you have, what, feelings for me? What am I supposed to do, Seth? Tell me. I’m all ears.”

“I don’t expect anything from you. I told you,” Seth adds. “I told you I don’t expect anything from you. If you wanted to hang up and never talk to me again, yeah, it’d suck, but I can’t do anything about it. I can’t _make you_ want me back,” Seth stresses. “I told you how I felt. I can’t tell you how you feel.”

Roman steps in measured lengths, and counts the number of steps from point to point. Seventeen from wall to back wall, and he paces it back and forth once, twice. Thinking.

Seth can’t tell Roman how he feels. Roman knows how he feels, sort of. He knows that he wants to kiss Seth. He knows that even when Seth’s being a little shit, he still kind of wants to kiss him – thinks about it now, with this heaving beast of anger in his chest, imagines that Seth is _there_ and nobody else is, and he can kiss Seth all he wants until his anger burns itself out. Seth’s always been good at that. He doesn’t control Roman, no matter what he tells the world, but he makes it easier for Roman to control himself.

“I do want you back,” he says quietly. “But you make it so hard, Seth.”

Seth makes a noise. It’s not a word, really, just a sound, and it almost makes Roman smile. God, he’s too far gone, isn’t he? All this talk, talk he believes in, talk he knows and feels and everything he is, and he’s still just a fool over Seth Rollins.

“You do?” Seth asks. It takes Roman a moment to remember what he said. Right.

“I think so,” he admits, settling back on the bed. “I, uh, I did some thinking, like I said I would.”

“Right. And you, right. Okay.” Seth clears his throat. “What kind of thinking?”

Roman’s mind flashes back to what it’s been flashing back to since it happened: seeing Seth. Imagining kissing Seth. How has he never thought about this before? It’s all he can think about now, what Seth’s lips would feel like, whether he’d lean up into it or Roman would have to lean down, and if Seth would be pressed up against him when it happens.

He coughs. Seth lets out a hiccup of a laugh.

“Wow, really?” he asks. He sounds delighted. “I can practically hear you blushing.”

“No, you can’t,” Roman says automatically, reaching up to feel his own face. It does feel a little warm, maybe. This is ridiculous. He’s a grown man getting flustered thinking about kissing his best friend. Former best friend. Still best friend. He doesn’t know.

“What kind of thinking?” Seth badgers. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

Roman’s brain is the worst part of his body, and he knows that because it starts thinking about the kinds of things Seth’s thinking he might be thinking, which leads him to the things he’s been avoiding thinking about all night. Things about more-than-kissing Seth, about getting Seth out of his stupid ring gear and touching him, and being touched, and getting hands in Seth’s hair to pull it loose and keep him where Roman wants him. He thinks about Seth’s body, the way he’s always so at ease in it when he moves, graceful and smooth, the way he’s tan and lithe and has strong thighs and the way he’d look if Roman had a couple uninterrupted hours of free time in a room with him. He thinks about rumpled bedsheets and creaking springs, about kissing Seth for hours and hours until they just couldn’t anymore and their lips were rubbed raw from it.

He thinks all of that, all at once, and it’s like being punched in the stomach.

“Do you want me to go first?” Seth offers. He sounds caught between teasing and genuine hesitation. “I’ve got a lot of thoughts I could tell you about.”

“Like what?” Roman asks. He can’t believe he just said that, but he did. He definitely did. He can hear the way Seth inhales sharply as confirmation.

“You serious?” ventures Seth. “Have you ever – are we talking about – have you ever thought about me like that? Before, uh, today?”

“I, uh, I—“ Roman swallows. He does not stutter. He is not a person who stutters and this is not going to change that. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“It’s a pretty straightforward question,” Seth replies. He’s trying to pretend he’s cool and calm, but Roman can hear how heavily he’s breathing no matter how far away from the phone he tilts his mouth. “Have you ever thought about me like that?”

“Fuck,” says Roman. “I don’t know, okay? Maybe. I might’ve. Not on purpose.”

“I’ve thought about you,” says Seth. That was, Roman could’ve assumed that much, but it still somehow sends a jolt of heat right to his stomach. “I think about you a lot.”

“What’s that mean?” His voice is getting lower and quieter without his permission. “Think about me doing what?”

“You know what,” Seth replies. Roman’s fingers are tightening on his phone. Is it just him, or is it getting warmer in his room? “Come on, you know. I’m not really good at being subtle.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to be subtle.” Roman licks his lips. They’re really dry. “Maybe I want you to tell me.”

Seth releases a sigh. “Are you – we’re really doing this? You know what this is, right?”

Roman’s mind won’t let him think the words, but he knows what it is. “Yeah,” he says. “Tell me. I want to hear you say it.”

“There’s a lot of things,” says Seth. He sounds out of breath. Roman _feels_ out of breath, which is ridiculous, because all he’s doing is sitting on a hotel bed talking on the phone.

“Are you in your room?” he asks.

Seth laughs, quick and nervous. “Classic. Yeah, I’m in my room. On the bed. I’d tell you to come over if Orton’s room wasn’t right across from mine. You gonna ask what I’m wearing next?”

Roman shivers a little, his toes pressing into the softness of the comforter, hot both from Seth’s question and from the knowledge that Seth would ask him over if it was possible. He’s not under any illusions as to what would happen if they could, if Roman could somehow slip past all the people watching Seth and get into his hotel room.

“Nah,” he says, and he recognizes his voice like this, low, rough. It’s how he sounds when he’s turned on. Because he is turned on. “You could tell me what you’d want to do if I was there, though.”

“I could,” Seth agrees. His breath hitched in the middle there. He’s not fooling Roman. This is affecting him just as much as it’s affecting Roman. “I could do that. I’ve never done this before,” he admits. “I might be terrible at it.”

“I think you’re doing okay so far,” Roman replies. “I think you’re doing really good.”

“We haven’t even started yet,” Seth says, laughing, but his laugh is kind of breathy, weak in places. Like a gasp.

Roman shoves away any feelings about how ridiculous he feels and says, “Are you touching yourself?”

Seth laughs again, and it’s more of the same breathless gasping sound. Roman likes that sound. “Yeah,” Seth says. “A little.”

“Now I do wanna know what you’re wearing,” Roman says. “Paint a picture for me.”

Another laugh. Apparently Seth’s giggly when he’s feeling amorous, or he feels as ridiculous as Roman does but, like Roman, not ridiculous enough to stop.

“Yeah, okay,” says Seth. “Sweatpants. That’s it. I’m on the bed. I’m thinking about sucking your dick. Picture painted?”

“Oh.” The sound is punched out of Roman, so much more a sound than it is a word. Now he’s got a fairly clear picture – Seth’s room can’t look that much different than his – of Seth reclined on his bed, jerking off while he thinks about Roman, thinks about sucking Roman off. “Uh, yeah.” Now Roman’s the one who sounds breathless. “That one of the things you think about a lot?”

“Mhm.” These little hitches of breath that Roman keeps barely catching from Seth’s end of the line are going to be the death of him, he’s pretty sure. He can picture Seth so well, can’t believe he’s never thought about this before. Now that he’s realized what it really is, those warm, fluttering feelings in the pit of his stomach whenever they talk, it seems so ludicrous he’s never thought about Seth like this, gasping and needy, his hand on himself through his clothes. Is it tentative, a nervous touch, like a tease? 

Or is he being brazen about it? Maybe he’s not being hesitant at all. Maybe he’s already hard enough that there’s no room for caution, his hips jerking in tiny movements, his hand ready to slip past his waistband and go for what he really wants.

Roman swallows. Now that he knows he wants to think about it, he has no idea how he’s ever going to be able to think about anything else.

“What’re you thinking about?” Seth asks, and it’s so sudden Roman doesn’t have time to think about censoring his answer.

“How hot you are,” he says, and Seth laughs again, but it’s not at Roman. It trails off into a sound Roman can only describe as a moan, heated and low, twisted off at the end like Seth tried to muffle it. “Wish I was there,” Roman says. “Fuck, Seth.”

“Trust me, I want you to be,” Seth says. He inhales, sharp and quiet, and Roman really wishes he could see what he just did. “I really, really want you to be. God, do you have any idea how many times I’ve thought about it? How many times I’ve been able to get myself off just imagining what you’re like in bed?”

Roman makes a noise. He’s not even sure what kind of noise it is, only that it’s not a noise he can ever remember making before in his life. “Tell me,” he murmurs. He doesn’t know what he wants Seth to tell him. Everything. He just wants Seth to keep talking to him in that voice like he’s three seconds from falling apart and it’s all because of Roman.

“Last May after we won the tag titles,” Seth says, his words fast, tripping over one another. Seth’s usually one of the smoothest talkers Roman knows but he’s fumbling his words and Roman is so hard it’s dizzying. “You smiled at me when we got back to the locker room and I would’ve kissed you if Dean wasn’t there.”

He swallows, audibly, and then keeps talking before Roman can say anything. “When we were sparring earlier this year in, I dunno, doesn’t matter, it was just you and me and you pinned me down, I had bruises shaped like your fingers, I couldn’t stop thinking about having them on my hips, fuck, and it was so effortless for you, you could do anything you wanted to me and I think I’d fucking love it, Roman.”

“That’s good,” Roman says. His fingertips are resting at the edge of his pants and he wants to, wants to just give in and touch because it’s so much, Seth’s voice and what he’s saying and the knowledge that he’s getting himself off while he’s talking to Roman, and he’s thinking about Roman, somewhere in this hotel. He wants to, but, but, but he also wants the first time Seth gives him an orgasm to be while he’s touching Roman, while he’s there, when Roman can see him and feel him. “I want to do a lot of things to you. How, how long? How long have you been thinking about this?”

May, last May, the tag titles, that was more than a year ago, can Seth really have been thinking about this for more than a year?

Seth’s laugh doesn’t even sound like a laugh, it sounds like a groan. “I can’t believe you never noticed. I’ve been a fucking wreck over you for so long, I can’t even remember what it’s like not to be. First—“ Seth cuts himself off with a sound like a bitten-off whine. Roman’s heart is pounding, and he’s pretty sure his face is flushed. Seth keeps going, “—first time I noticed was March, I think, March last year, that’s when I knew for sure, you hugged me after, can’t remember why, I couldn’t stop thinking about how good you smelled.”

It might seem absurd considering he’s listening to Seth jerk off (wow, thinking of it that straightforward is making Roman’s head spin, he wonders if Seth would let him watch him jerk off, too, if Seth would lie back on the bed and watch Roman watch him) but he misses hugging Seth. He misses a lot of things about Seth, even now, because talking on the phone is great but it’s not the same as being _close_ to someone, feeling them warm and solid in your arms, being able to bury your face in their hair and close your eyes, just be with them.

He misses the way Seth lets himself be hugged more than he does the hugging, the way Seth flings his arms around him and refuses to let go until he’s good and ready, and he misses the way having Seth in his arms felt like a quiet little place to call home.

Roman’s pretty sure he’s in love with Seth. This is the absolute worst time for him to come to that conclusion, but it’s like his heart’s been shouting at him for the last month, last _year_ and he’s only now listening to it. It clicks into a place, a sensation almost physical, and Roman’s a lot more calm about it than he would’ve thought he’d be.

He’s in love with Seth. Everything makes a little more sense.

“Think I’m gonna kiss you next time I get you alone,” he says into the phone. “That okay?”

“You can do whatever you want to me next time you get me alone,” says Seth. He sounds like he’s just run ten miles without stopping. “Fuck, I’m—you—Roman,” Seth says. It sounds like a plea, desperate and Roman’s name on his tongue steals the breath from Roman’s lungs.

“Yeah,” Roman says. “Yeah, yeah, good, that’s good. I wanna hear you. You sound so fucking amazing,” he says, because Seth does, and Roman has no idea what he’s going to do if he ever gets to hear Seth sound this ruined in person.

The broken, half-moaned way that Seth says Roman’s name when he comes is something Roman’s not forgetting for a long time. It makes him want to say fuck the consequences and barrel down the hallway until he finds Seth’s room, show him exactly what Roman would like to do with him, live and in person.

He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He stays where he is on his bed and listens to the shuddering, heaving breaths that Seth’s taking in on the other end.

“Shit,” says Seth after a while. His voice is rough, throaty. “I, uh. Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Roman agrees. He listens to Seth catch his breath for another minute. “When am I gonna get to see that in person?”

Forward, maybe, but he just heard Seth come, so he thinks it might not be that forward after all.

“Mmm,” says Seth, a wordless thoughtful sound. God, he sounds so relaxed and lazy, and when he speaks again, his words sound slow, smoothing together at the ends. “It’s… Wednesday. Traveling until Friday. Nothin’ on Saturday. The show on Sunday. After the show?”

Roman considers it. “Nah. Depending on how your match goes, I’m probably gonna be needed elsewhere.”

“Oh, right.” Seth doesn’t sound thrilled. “You’ll need to be a shoulder to cry on.”

“Don’t bet on it.” Roman snorts. “He’s out for blood. Might be needed to celebrate.”

“Thanks for the support,” Seth mumbles. His voice is still hazy at the edges even though the conversation’s not as nice.

“You know you deserve everything you get, so suck it up and deal with it,” Roman says. “Get your sympathy from someone who doesn’t care as much about you being an asshole.”

Seth groans, in and out like he’s switching the phone to his other hand. “I knew you’d hold it against me.”

“Damn right I do.” Roman checks the time on the clock next to the bed so he doesn’t have to move the phone. Loving Seth (god, it’s still weird to even think when he knows how he means it) doesn’t mean Seth’s not a dick for what he’s done to Dean. “It was shitty and you know it was.” He sighs. This isn’t generally how he prefers his pillow talk to be. “You turning on him in the first place was shitty, too, and your reasons then were bullshit.”

There’s a long pause, long enough that Roman checks to see if the call’s dropped, and then Seth mutters, “Maybe.”

Roman sits up straight. That’s the first time that Seth’s ever acknowledged that what he did to Dean wasn’t completely deserved. Every time they try to have this conversation, Seth’s refused to say that it was at all unwarranted, or that his reasoning wasn’t sound.

Before he can say anything about it, though, Seth keeps talking. “Okay, no Sunday, then. I know Mondays are usually a bust, but maybe we can try for then? Tell Dean you’re, I don’t know, you need room to get in the right headspace.”

“What’re you gonna tell your people?” Roman asks, tucking one hand up between his arm and his chest. It’s as close as he can get to crossing his arms with only one arm free.

“Don’t know,” says Seth. “Hunter pretty much lets me do whatever as long as I get done what I need to get done and I’m around when he needs me. I think he’s just relieved he doesn’t have to keep an eye on me all the time.” There’s a smile in his voice when he adds, “And he’ll probably be pretty pissed off at Randy for losing to you, anyway, so he won’t be paying much attention to me.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Roman says, shaking his head. He hates how Seth can make him smile without even trying. “It’s getting late.”

“Yeah,” Seth acknowledges. “Hope to see you Monday? I know I’ll see you, y’know, at the pay-per-view, but. You know.”

“I know,” Roman replies quietly. There’s no way they’ll be able to do anything more than _see_ each other at an event where everyone’s paying attention to everyone, eyes on them, he probably couldn’t even manage to give Seth a smile without someone noticing. And nobody can know. It is what it is. They’ve dealt with it so far. They’ll keep dealing with it as long as they have to. “Can I ask you something?”

“You know you can,” Seth says. “Sounds like maybe I’m not gonna be too happy about it, but you can ask.”

“Do you really like working with the Authority?” Roman asks. He’s positive he doesn’t want to know the answer, shouldn’t have asked, but it’s been a question at the back of his mind since he and Seth started talking again. It just doesn’t seem to make sense, how Seth can go from talking about how much he misses Roman and how much he hates having to work with Randy Orton to smiling and laughing with Triple H.

He hears Seth breathe in and then heavily out. “There are selling points,” he says. “There’d have to be, you know? That’s how they get you. I’ve got a contract for a title shot. I’m practically guaranteed a spot on every show. I’ve got backup even if I don’t need it. The night I won the briefcase, Hunter ordered a limo to take me anywhere I wanted in the city to celebrate. He gives me advice all the time, and it’s good advice, he’s been in this business forever. There are perks.”

“That’s how they get you,” Roman repeats, mostly to himself. “Seth, how long, exactly, were you working with Triple H before you turned on us?”

“Don’t ask me that,” says Seth.

“I’m asking you that. How long?” Roman repeats. “I thought – was it weeks? Months?”

“You know it wasn’t personal,” Seth says, but it’s quiet, resigned, not much weight to it.

“If you spent months planning on slamming a chair into my back while you were still smiling to my face, it damn well was personal,” says Roman. He hadn’t even considered that Seth had been planning that move longer than a week, maybe two. He should have. He really should have.

“It wasn’t – months,” Seth protests. “Okay? It wasn’t months. _A_ month.” His voice goes quiet again. “Since just after Extreme Rules. But it wasn’t, it wasn’t anything, I didn’t think anything would actually come of it until the night before Payback. It was just… an option. There if I wanted it to be.”

“Which you did,” says Roman. “You wanted it to be.”

“I wanted it to be.” Seth doesn’t sound quite apologetic, but it’s close enough that Roman keeps his mouth shut to let him talk. “I know, okay? But I felt trapped. And you know my reasons. Even if they’re not good enough for you, they were good enough for me at the time, and I did what I felt like I had to do. I don’t know if I would’ve made the same decision knowing what I know now. You wanted to know if I like working with the Authority?”

“I do,” Roman says when Seth seems to genuinely want an answer.

“No. I fucking hate it. I hate that they don’t seem to think I can win a match without the help of a middle aged wackadoo who can’t decide whether he wants to wear a mask or a suit. I hate that I’ve got to kiss so much ass to stay where I am that I have a special laugh to use with corporate stooges who think they’re funny. I hate having to wear what they tell me to wear, I hate having to say what they want me to say. I hate that it means I don’t get to have you.” Seth takes a deep breath. “I hate that it feels like I’ve accomplished nothing, and everything’s being handed to me, when I know I’m good enough on my own.”

“So leave,” Roman suggests. He’d wondered how good Seth was at putting on a smile. The answer is, apparently, very. “Get out.”

“There’s no backdoor,” Seth says. “And trust me, I’ve looked for one. There’s no way for me to just leave, not now, when I’ve alienated the entire locker room. Maybe, if it wouldn’t just be me on my own, against the locker room _and_ the Authority, but…” He sighs, and the shake of his head is nearly audible. “I made my bed. Now I’m lying in it.”

“It wouldn’t be you on your own,” says Roman. “You know if you got out, I’d have your back.”

“No,” Seth says. Roman’s taken aback. “You wouldn’t. Because you couldn’t. Not without Dean. And he’d sooner lay down and die than he would team up with me again. I don’t – blame him. And I wouldn’t blame you, either. But there’s no way out of this for me, Roman. It’s this, for me, now. I got what I thought I wanted.”

“Could you?” asks Roman. “Could you work with Dean? Hypothetically, just answer the question, imagine a world where you didn’t completely destroy him because you’re a dick who holds grudges for way too long. Could you work with him?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Seth sounds like he’s not even sure why Roman’s pursuing this line of thought. “It doesn’t matter, because what happened, it happened. I get wanting to live in a world where everything’s okay again but it’s not. There’s no use in dreaming about it.”

“Answer the question,” Roman grits out. “I don’t care that it won’t ever happen. I don’t care that Dean won’t ever forgive you. I want to know if you’ll ever forgive him.”

“Stop,” says Seth. “It doesn’t matter. Yes, okay? Yes, I could do it, I could team up with him again, and we’d rule the world like we used to, but it doesn’t matter, and fuck you for trying to make it. The Shield is dead, Roman,” he says, and he doesn’t sound relaxed at all anymore. “We all need to move on. It was great while it lasted.”

“Yeah, good speech, Seth,” Roman says. He’s not just going to take this, like Seth knows everything, like Roman’s the dick here, throwing what Seth did in his face. Like he’s wrong for having hope that not now doesn’t have to mean never again. “Fighting one brother on Sunday and telling the other how much you miss me every chance you get. For someone who wants to move on so much, you’re doing a great job of not moving on.”

“I’m not going to pretend we can just be a happy family again,” says Seth. “What do you want me to say? That it was the best two years of my life? That I wish it could be that way again? That I’m so fucking sick of having to go out there and pretend it was the best thing I ever did, turning my back on you? You think I _like_ having to fight Dean every single week, having to act like neither of you ever meant a thing to me? What do you want me to say, Roman? Yeah, it’d be fucking amazing to have that again, but I’m not going to, and we both know it, and for you to dangle it in front of my face is more fucking cruel than I would’ve thought you were capable of.”

“I guess we’re both learning new things about each other tonight, then.” Roman rubs his temples. His head hurts. “I don’t want to fight you. I’m trying to understand. Guess I’m just hoping someday I’ll be able to talk to you someplace other people can see.”

He hears Seth let out another sigh. “I won’t – maybe someday, you know? When they have less power, or I have more, or, I don’t know. I wish things were different, too. I wish a lot of things were different. They’re just not. Not yet.”

“Not yet,” says Roman softly, “doesn’t mean never.”

“No, I guess it doesn’t,” Seth says. He yawns, audibly. “Sorry. Might be more tired than I thought I was.” His voice gets quieter. “And sorry for everything else, too. I just don’t want to dwell when I know… when I know.”

“I get it. I just don’t think things are as cut and dry as you think they are.” Roman’s tired, too, bone-deep, but he has been for a couple months now. “But it’s late. We’ll talk about it more some other time.”

“I’ll text you tomorrow,” Seth says through another yawn. “And I’ll, I dunno, give you a secret signal when I see you across the room on Sunday.”

Roman laughs, muffled by a yawn of his own. “Sounds good. Sleep well.”

“Will do. You, too.”

When Roman hangs up the phone, he already knows he’s not going to sleep for quite a while.

He doesn’t end up sleeping for two days straight when he gets home the next day, but he makes a good effort. He’s exhausted, bone-deep, and he knows that the best thing for him to be in order to be at full capacity on Sunday is to be rested. Being so tired he feels like falling over won’t beat Randy Orton. Roman gets as much sleep as he can fit in between workouts and meals and texting Seth. He wishes that last thing didn’t matter as much to him as it does.

They don’t call each other again. By some silent agreement, they leave that. It’s not awkward, like Roman was sort of expecting it to be. He and Seth have done a lot of things together, but phone sex was a first, and Roman doesn’t know if it’s just him, but he’s having a little bit of a hard time dealing with it.

More than anything, he feels weird that he’s heard Seth come before he’s gotten to see it. Maybe that’s not what should be weirdest about it. It’s what Roman’s finding weirdest, and he’s trying his best not to second guess himself as much as he tends to do. Should other things about this concern him more? Almost definitely. If he lets himself think about those things, he’ll drive himself off the deep end.

Seth doesn’t push, though. Apart from a few vaguely flirty texts (To be honest, Roman’s not actually sure they’re vaguely flirty – it’s the same way Seth used to talk to him all the time. Then again, maybe Seth’s been flirting with him this whole time and he never noticed. It wouldn’t surprise him, at this point.), Seth leaves him to figure out what he needs to on his own time. He doesn’t wheedle Roman for answers about things Roman isn't ready to give him answers to. Roman appreciates that.

It doesn’t make it easier to make any sort of decision, of course, but he appreciates it nonetheless.

Summerslam weekend is a whirl of press and training and people coming up to him with cameras and wanting to talk to him. He’s gotten more used to it than he was – it used to terrify him, the very sight of a microphone, would make him freeze up something terrible – but it’s still nervewracking, hoping you’re not going to say something wrong.

Dean and Seth have always been good at interviews. Dean because he’s great at putting on whatever face is needed for any given situation and Seth because, well, Roman’s not sure there are things Seth _isn’t_ good at.

The day of the pay-per-view finds Roman sharp, well-rested even though he got in at about three in the morning. Dean’s a ball of energy, jittery and pacing, and Roman keeps having to rest a hand on his leg to stop it from shaking up and down, up and down. Roman’s noticed, over the time he’s been friends with Dean, that Dean has a lot of physical reassurances for himself, little ways he checks himself when he’s nervous or anticipating something bit. He taps his fingers together or pats his chest rhythmically, fidgets with the buckle of his belt, taps his foot to some song Roman can’t hear but he can.

Dean’s using all of them today. Roman doesn’t mention it. He doesn’t need to. If he didn’t know what was screwing up Dean’s head, then he would ask, because he doesn’t like not knowing what’s going on with his boy. But he knows today. He knows why Dean’s upset today. He knows what’s in Dean’s head. He lets Dean count each ridge of his own ribs, and he doesn’t say a damn word.

The closer they get to the actual show, the more Dean taps and jitters and fidgets, and Roman isn’t going to tell him to stop, but it’s making something nervous and protective rear in Roman’s chest. He doesn’t want Dean to have to do this on his own. Dean shouldn’t have to do this on his own. Roman’s not even going to be one of the lumberjacks. Dean’s match is before his and Dean had said that Roman shouldn’t risk it. But Roman would. He would, because it’s not fair, the bags under Dean’s eyes and the way he looks so _sad_.

That’s what’s hurting Roman. Dean doesn’t look angry, or determined, or full of rage. He just looks sad. And before he goes out there, he’ll do his best to put on a face that’s furious, but Roman has no doubt that he’ll be able to see the misery there underneath. Seth will, too. He’s good at seeing underneath the masks people put on.

“I’m gonna grab a water,” Roman announces, watching the way Dean jumps, his hand darting away from his mouth. He doesn’t actually bite his nails, as far as Roman can tell. It’s just one of his things, touching his own lips, fingers at his mouth, another one of Dean’s reassurances for himself. “You want one?”

“Think I’d throw it up,” Dean admits, his voice raspy and quiet. He nods, though. “Yeah, grab me one. I should get something in me other than coffee.”

Roman settles a hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeezes before he leaves the room. He wonders sometimes, when he lets himself think about it, whether Seth knows that Roman was never angry because of the betrayal against _him_. It is and has always been about what Seth has done to Dean. Seth’s the one who made Dean look like that, wretched and torn apart inside. Part of Roman won’t ever forgive him for it.

It’s the same part of Roman that knows he shouldn’t give Seth the time of day. He wishes that part was just a little louder, and that it could give him the strength to not want the things he wants.

For all that he was supposed to be the power in the Shield, he’s turned out to be the weakest member. Poetic justice at its finest, he guesses.

He’s retrieved two bottles of water and is halfway back to their locker room when he sees a flash of blond out of the corner of his eye. He knows, he knows it’s nothing, there are a lot of blond people in this company, from Dolph Ziggler to Summer Rae, and he shouldn’t even bother looking, but he does, and it’s Seth. Of course it’s Seth.

Seth who is staring right back at him, his head lowered, sitting on a table casually. Like he’s waiting for someone. Is he waiting for someone? Out of habit, Roman checks either side and over his shoulder for signs of an ambush. Nobody. Seth’s alone or at least appears to be.

There’s an intensity in Seth’s eyes when he inclines his head and then, biting his lip, he checks either way down the hallway, too. He jerks his head to the left and then immediately heads in that direction.

Roman tells himself firmly how absolutely terrible an idea this is, just so that he can say later that he told himself, and then he follows at a distance.

Their two-person train takes what seems to be random twists and turns, but Seth looks like he knows where he’s going. Finally, he glances over his shoulder and then ducks into a room off the hallway. Roman sighs to himself, glances over his own shoulder, then squints down the hallway. This part of the arena seems to be deserted, actually, which is both a comfort and incredibly suspicious. Is he actually doing this?

The water bottles are sweating condensation against his palms, and Roman keeps walking toward the door until there aren’t any more steps between him and the doorway, and then instead of just continuing to walk straight, he turns into the doorway Seth had disappeared through.

His adrenaline’s pumping, just a little, part of him braced for an attack, another part of him braced for something else, for that feeling in the pit of his stomach that being around Seth gives him. This is the first time they’ve been this close since that phone call. At the sound of the door clicking gently closed behind him, Roman turns to find Seth leaned against it, dressed to compete, but it’s just Seth without any backup and he’s staring at Roman like he can’t even believe he’s real.

Roman licks his lips. It doesn’t make them any less dry. “Hey.”

Seth laughs, a short burst of it, and it reminds Roman of how he’d kept laughing during that phone call. It makes heat flare in his chest. “Hey,” Seth says back, his hair pulled back into a bun at the nape of his neck. He looks very well put together, and Roman wants to mess him up in every conceivable way. “I didn’t think you’d actually follow me.”

“Come here,” Roman says, which isn’t an answer, but Seth’s still at the door, and Roman’s a few feet from him, and while he’s here, he’s going to get all he can out of this. While he’s made this monumentally stupid decision, he might as well enjoy it.

Seth doesn’t hesitate. He takes the three long strides to Roman, until they’re so close that there’s barely air between them, and he puts a hand on the side of Roman’s neck. Roman’s never really paid attention like this when Seth’s close to him. It’s always just been something that was normal. But this, this is new, this charged emotion between them, and Seth’s thumb is stroking Roman’s jaw.

“You smell expensive,” is the first thing Roman thinks to say, because Seth does, he smells like classy, expensive cologne, and it’s only vaguely familiar to Roman. He thinks Seth might’ve worn it before. It’s not so much that it’s overwhelming, just enough that it makes Roman want to come closer to him. Not that he needs another reason to want that.

“I was doing media shit,” Seth murmurs, his gaze visibly darting from Roman’s eyes to his lips and then back again. Roman swallows hard. “Wanted to make a good impression.”

“I like it,” says Roman. It’s making him dizzy, a little, Seth being this close, Seth being this close and smelling so good and Roman’s heard what he sounds like when he comes and Roman keeps remembering that he’d realized, he’d finally understood that the feeling like bells chiming in his chest when he talks to Seth, that’s what love feels like. Seth is here alone with Roman and Roman loves him so much that the breath in his lungs isn’t enough.

“You said you were gonna kiss me next time we were alone,” Seth says, both hands cupping Roman’s jaw now, and Roman’s hands fit so nicely on his hips.

“I did say that,” Roman says. His thumbs tuck automatically up underneath the top of Seth’s gear, and Seth shivers, visibly, and Roman can’t say anything else because if he doesn’t kiss Seth right this fucking second he thinks the world will actually end.

Seth inhales sharply when Roman kisses him, and his hands slide up until his arms are around Roman’s neck. It pulls them closer, Roman’s head ducking down to kiss Seth harder, and his arms around Seth’s waist, god, Seth is so much smaller than him and that shouldn’t turn Roman on but it does. Seth’s mouth is hot and eager and Roman feels lightheaded with how much he wants, with how much he _needs_.

Seth is pressed as close to Roman as he can get, and he’s so warm that Roman wonders for a second if he might actually be on fire, and that’s stupid, that’s ridiculous, but the thought is wiped out of his head almost as soon as he has it. There’s no room in his head for kissing Seth and thinking at the same time.

He slides his hand up the curve of Seth’s back and in one movement tugs the elastic out of his bun, so that he can get his hand in the hair that falls loose, his palm cradling the back of Seth’s head. Seth makes a noise into his mouth, a moan and a sigh, a sound that Roman swallows greedily and that makes him want so much more.

When he stops, not because he wants to but because he’s getting genuinely lightheaded and he has to gulp in a lungful of air, Seth’s mouth is wet and red and Roman made him that way. He kissed Seth’s mouth that way, and he wants to do it all over again. But Seth’s neck is right there, too, and that’s tempting, to get his mouth on that, on the long, smooth line of Seth’s throat.

Seth’s breathing heavily, too, like he’s just had a hard match, and when Roman kisses his neck, he makes a broken sound like a bitten off whine.

Roman laughs, muffled against Seth’s throat, his thumbs still tucked into the ridiculous material that makes up Seth’s ring gear. Seth’s head’s tipped back while Roman leaves a kiss underneath his jaw, lingering like a secret. “I can’t believe you actually wear this to the ring now,” he murmurs, his words teasing, fingers spanning Seth’s hips.

“You wanna take it off me?” Seth asks, fuck, his voice sounds a million times better than it ever has over the phone, and he’s craning up into Roman’s touch, hands scrabbling for purchase on Roman’s shoulders.

Roman’s teeth set to Seth’s neck where it curves down into his shoulder, only interrupted by the top of his gear, and he wants to bite down even when he knows he can’t leave any evidence of him being here with Seth. “You have no idea how much.”

Seth hisses through his teeth when Roman’s thigh nudges against him, and he’s half-hard and Roman wants to just let Seth rub off on his thigh, just watch him do it, memorize the look on his face and hear the sounds he makes all over again.

They don’t have time. They can’t do this here. They shouldn’t be doing it at all. There’s a million and one reasons that they can’t, they can’t, they can’t, but it’s hard to remember any of them when Seth’s looking at him like he hung the moon.

“Fuck,” Seth bites out, gritty and harsh, his hair rumpled and fluffy, and Roman wants to kiss him all over again. “Maybe this _was_ a bad idea.”

“It was the worst idea you’ve ever had,” Roman agrees. He brushes Seth’s hair out of the way so that he can kiss his neck again. “Wanna do it some more?”

Seth laughs and it’s a filthy sound, full of promises. “You have no idea how much,” he says, mirroring what Roman had said a minute ago. His breath hitches when Roman ghosts another kiss along his jaw. “No idea,” he repeats. “But you know we can’t be here too long.”

“You got better places to be?” Roman asks, tugging Seth’s earlobe with his teeth.

“No,” Seth moans, his hand sliding down Roman’s arm. He catches Roman’s hand at the end of it and holds it, and Roman pretends that doesn’t shoot fireworks off in his brain. “No, you know I don’t. Just, we can’t get caught here. Wasn’t expecting you to follow. Just hoping. Didn’t, didn’t plan it out all the way.”

He starts stammering mid-sentence because Roman’s tracing Seth’s belt buckle with his fingertips, skimming Seth’s stomach every so often, watching him squirm.

“You’re probably right,” Roman admits reluctantly. He doesn’t stop touching Seth’s belt buckle. “Doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.”

“We’ll figure out a way to make it happen tomorrow,” Seth promises. “I dunno. I’ll, ha. I’ll text you.” He smiles and it’s rueful. “Seems like that’s all we get to do.”

“You sleep in the bed you made,” Roman murmurs. “Or whatever.”

Seth kisses him again, but this one’s not the hard, fervent press of the first one. It’s simple and chaste, for the most part, eyes closed, mouths together, and Seth rests his forehead against Roman’s once it’s over.

“We’ll find a way,” he says. “Remember when we ruled the world?”

Roman hums, quietly, enjoying the rare stillness. He doesn’t have to think, right now. He can just talk, and Seth can talk, and for a moment everything is okay because Roman doesn’t have to think about how it’s not.

“Seems like forever ago,” he says, his hands settled at the curve of Seth’s waist, resting, enjoying the easy physicality of it. “But it wasn’t, really, was it?”

“I don’t think we ever stopped,” Seth says. “I think we own this company whether we’re the Shield or not, and we always will.” He pauses, and then adds, with a little twist of his mouth, “Believe that.”

“I believe in you even when I shouldn’t,” Roman says. It’s harsh, and it sounds like a confession because that’s what it is. “Even when I know that you probably don’t deserve it, I still do. Think it’s probably going to end up killing me one way or another.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little dramatic?” Seth asks, but his eyes are serious.

“Maybe,” Roman allows. “Doesn’t make it less true.”

“No, I guess it doesn’t.” Seth kisses him again before he steps back, letting out a whoosh of air and shaking out his hands. “I need to… be less turned on than I am.”

The mood lightens a little at that, and Roman laughs, watching Seth pace in a little line. “Problem?”

“Shut up,” Seth whines, lacing his fingers behind his neck. “Don’t – don’t talk, I’m trying to think of not-hot things and I can’t do it when you’re talking.”

Interesting. Roman’s going to have to keep that in mind.

“I should go, anyway,” he admits, belatedly realizing that there aren’t any water bottles in his hands anymore and locating them scattered on the floor. Thankfully, none of them burst open, but they’re mostly not cold anymore. He gathers them, tucks them underneath his arm for safekeeping. “I was only supposed to be gone long enough to get water.”

“Right, right,” Seth says, pausing in his pacing near the door. “I meant to say, if I don’t see you again, I just wanted to say, uh. Good luck. Tonight.”

“If you don’t see me again,” Roman repeats, caught between amusement and curiosity. “You really not expecting to live through tonight?”

“What?” Seth frowns. “No, no, I just doubt I’m gonna get another opportunity before you go out there. Kick his ass, please. I, well, I’m not gonna ask you to return the well wishes. Considering.”

Roman watches Seth swallow, and feels a matching frown grow on his face. “You don’t have to go through with this,” he points out, gently, knowing Seth’s going to but needing to say it anyway.

“I do,” Seth says immediately. “I really do. And I’m not even sure I don’t want to.” He shrugs, a fluid movement of his shoulders, though the look on his face is bitter and less sure. “Whatever else happens, tonight’s the end of a lot of things. Beginning of a few, too, but this needs to happen. We have to do this.”

Roman nods, his heart sinking. “This is my first match on a pay-per-view where I’m not tagging with you,” he says, quiet. 

“And it’s gonna be great,” Seth replies. He doesn’t even hesitate. “You’re gonna break Randy Orton’s face and I’m gonna give you, like, sixty blowjobs to express my gratitude.”

Seth doesn’t blink when he says that last part of his sentence, and it takes Roman a moment to realize what he’s said. He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck as it grows hot.

“Careful,” he warns. “Man might take you up on an offer like that.”

Seth gives him this look under his eyelashes, taking a few steps backward until his back meets the door, and the look on his face makes Roman shiver. He’s glad they need to stagger their departures by necessity, because he’s going to need a few minutes after Seth leaves to compose himself.

“I hope so,” Seth says. He twists the handle on the door, and the way he takes his first step out is so casual it’s startling. The visible transformation is even more so. The way Corporate Seth carries himself is subtly different from Just Seth. His back straightens, his chin tips up just a little, his shoulders are set. He glances over his shoulder once before he leaves, the latch catching behind him with a soft _snickt_.

Roman counts to ninety. That should be enough time for Seth to have gotten wherever he needs to go and for nobody to see them coming out of the same room, which is the last thing either of them needs. The hallway’s deserted when Roman steps out with his water bottles, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

He’s mostly composed by the time he gets back to his and Dean’s locker room. By the faint sound of pyrotechnics going off in the distance, it sounds like the show’s starting.

Dean doesn’t look any better. Roman bites his lip against any of the things he wants to say, and instead, when Dean looks up, he tosses him one of the bottles of water.

“You know when your match is on?” he asks, sitting down in the only other chair in the room and twisting the cap off his bottle.

“Fourth,” Dean says. His voice sounds hollow. Roman aches. “After the flag thing.”

“You gonna be able to do this?” Roman asks. It’s one of the things he should’ve bit back. “I know I’m, you know I worry. You know I do.”

“I know you do,” says Dean. His fingertips are drumming on his knee. He’s already dressed to compete, just like Seth had been, and his shoulder’s not wrapped. Whether that’s because it’s actually good to go or because Dean’s tired of having a target on that body part, Roman doesn’t know. “Doesn’t matter. Have to.”

“You don’t—“ says Roman helplessly.

“I do,” Dean interrupts, firm, with no room for Roman to argue. “I do have to. And I’ll put on a face like I’m having the time of my life, even.”

“I hate this,” Roman mutters. He doesn’t mean to, but it’s the truth, and he knows Dean knows, and he knows he shouldn’t say it, but all he’s done lately is things he shouldn’t do. Might as well add to the list.”

“I don’t think any of us like it,” Dean says, leaning back in his chair. His foot edges across the floor a couple inches until it’s touching Roman’s. Roman pretends not to notice. “It’s just how things are now.”

“You don’t think he likes it?” Roman asks. He knows Seth doesn’t like it, or at least doesn’t like it completely, but he wouldn’t have thought Dean would think that.

Dean snorts softly, glancing up at the monitor. The Intercontinental title match is on now, Dolph on his way to the ring. “I have no idea,” he says flatly. “Doubt he likes me jumping him all the time, anyway.”

“You’re probably right on that,” Roman admits. He folds his arms across his chest and looks at the screen himself. “Who you got in this one?”

“Ziggler,” Dean says immediately. “He doesn’t come out of this match with the title I think he’ll probably kill Miz for real. Man’s desperate.”

Dean’s shoulders have unwound a little at the normalcy, so Roman keeps up the vague chatter about the match as it goes. Dean even manages to look smug when Ziggler pulls it off, even though, as Roman points out, he hadn’t disagreed with Dean.

They do the same thing for the Divas match (Roman concedes his loss there, he’d bet on AJ but Dean’s hardly ever wrong about these things, and he’d had no doubt Paige was coming away with the title) and then it’s the flag match and Dean’s shoulders are tightening up again.

“Who’s winning this one?” Roman asks, desperate to keep the relative peace for even just a second longer.

“Not the audience,” Dean says, his foot tapping restlessly. “Uh, Rusev. Swagger’s bitten off more than he can chew. Kind of his thing.”

He sighs, rolling his shoulders and then his neck. “I should get to curtain,” he says.

“I wanna be out there,” Roman grumbles. “I don’t care that I have a match.”

“Well, I do.” Dean rolls his bad shoulder. Potentially not his bad shoulder, but Roman’s always kind of thought of it that way, and him having it wrapped forever didn’t help that. “You stay back here and get ready to pummel Orton.”

Roman sighs. “Fine. Okay.” He stands as well, and Dean’s almost leaning into the hug Roman’s going to give him before he decides to give it. 

Dean lets out a gust of air that sounds like it’s the entire contents of his lungs, one arm hooked loosely around Roman’s waist, his head leaning on Roman’s shoulder, and for a minute, Roman just helps him stand. He just helps Dean stay on his two feet for a minute.

“Okay,” Dean mutters, breathing back in like he’d been holding it that whole time. He stiffens a little, then – Roman’s ready to put it down to Dean putting his tough guy mask back on, but Dean has the weirdest look on his face when he pulls back, his eyebrows pulled together, an odd set to his mouth.

“What?” Roman has to ask. He showered before he got to the arena, so it can’t be that he has heinous B.O. or anything.

“Nothing,” says Dean slowly. He’s still looking at Roman weird, but it’s fading. Maybe it really was just him trying to reaffix that mask. “Just not really looking forward to this, I guess.”

“You’ve got this,” Roman says, squeezing Dean’s shoulder. “You’ve got this. I’ll be your own personal cheerleader in the back.”

“Will you,” Dean replies. It doesn’t even sound like a question, just flat and, and almost accusatory, and Roman frowns, hopelessly confused.

“Of course I will,” he says, his hand still on Dean’s shoulder. Dean’s the only one he _could_ root for in this match, and the only one he’s going to, and he’d said that to Seth, even, not that Dean has any way of knowing that. Not that Dean would find it much of a comfort if he did. “Dean, of course I will.”

There’s this pause, this moment that feels like a glitch in their matrix, because Dean’s never looked at him like this. It’s twenty emotions at once and Roman can only recognize betrayal and disbelief – betrayal? Why betrayal? What’s Roman done? He tries frantically to think of some reason for Dean to look at him like that, some reason Dean would _know_ , anyway, and comes up empty – before Dean’s face goes back to something Roman knows, and he shakes his head.

“Of course you will,” Dean says, a not-quite smile on his face. “Sorry, I’m kind of all over the place. Of course you will, you’re right.”

Roman wants to say something, but he has no idea what to say. He has no idea what that was. 

“I gotta go,” Dean says, nodding to himself. “I’ll, uh. I’ll see you after. When’re you on?” he asks.

“Before the main event.” Something Roman can answer. “After Bella-McMahon.”

“Cool. Okay. I will see you after, then.” Dean is shifting his weight from foot to foot. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Roman asks. The answer is obviously no, but it’s even more no than Roman was anticipating. Dean’s just being _weird_ now.

“Got to be.” Dean lifts himself onto the balls of his feet and then back down. He’s got that manic, jittery look on his face that Roman knows is mostly exaggerated. “Hey, uh, real quick, before I go.”

He’s already sidling toward the door. Roman checks the monitor. The Swagger/Rusev match is still going on. “Yeah,” Roman says. “What is it?”

Dean twists the handle, but he doesn’t open the door yet. “Do you remember,” he says, “that shit Seth always put on when he wanted to smell really hot? Came in a black bottle, cost an arm and a leg.”

“Yeah,” Roman says, slow, trying to figure out Dean’s angle here. This seems out of nowhere, but there’s no way it actually is. Dean doesn’t work nonsensically, as often as he tries to make people think he does.

“Yeah,” Dean replies. He doesn’t say anything else about it. He looks over Roman’s shoulder at the monitor, then pulls the door open. “Yeah,” he repeats, and then he’s gone, sweeping down the hallway. Roman has no idea what just happened.

He sits back down in his seat. He’s looking forward to the next match even less than he had been now, his ordinary worry for Dean combining with this new, panicky worry for Dean and making Roman a bundle of nerves and tension. He finds himself nibbling on a thumbnail and snatches his hand away from his mouth as Seth’s music begins to play from the monitor.

Part of Roman doesn’t even want to watch this. A large part, if he’s being honest with himself. Dean is his best friend. Seth is his best – something. He wants Dean to win, because Dean needs to win, or feels like he does. He’s not too conflicted about it, actually, and he was expecting to be. 

The lumberjacks turn the whole thing into a clusterfuck really quickly. They should’ve known that no number of superstars was going to keep Seth and Dean from doing what they wanted to do anywhere in the arena. This isn’t just months building up. This is years. For both of them.

He almost breaks his promise to Dean when Kane goes out there, but he knows it wouldn’t be appreciated. He comes closer to breaking it when Dean kisses Seth’s head, and says something to him. Roman can’t read his lips, but he can read Dean’s face after he hits Seth with his own finishing move, and Dean looks near tears. He’d said earlier that he’d at least manage to look like he was having the time of his life, but he doesn’t want to be doing this. 

Roman imagines being forced to fight Seth, being forced to hear Seth call him all sorts of things designed to hurt. He imagines Seth treating him like he’s treated Dean, but still loving him, still wishing he could call Seth his brother and having Seth throw that back in his face.

He’d known Seth was lying. Seth had known Seth was lying. Dean has no choice but to believe every word that comes out of Seth’s mouth. How much has he been dying inside while Roman’s been playing house with the person who’s made him feel like that?

It doesn’t matter if Dean knows Roman’s been doing it. Roman knows he’s been doing it. That’s bad enough. Though – before he’d gone out there, Dean had seemed like he doubted Roman’s got his back. Like suddenly Roman would be rooting for Seth in all of this, even though he’s told Dean this whole time that he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t ever. What changed?

Roman frowns. What _had_ changed? They’d hugged, and then – then Dean had mentioned the cologne Seth used to put on when he wanted to impress people. The shit that makes him smell… expensive.

“Fuck,” Roman bites out, aloud, because he’s alone in here and there’s nobody to hear him. It feels good on his tongue, guttural and gritty. He watches the rest of the match cursing himself inside, his fingers clenching and unclenching on his knee. He’s not shocked when Seth uses the stupid briefcase to pick up a win. It’s what everyone else expects of him. It’s what Roman should expect of him, too. 

Seth had mentioned once that he hated feeling like the Authority didn’t think he could win a match without help. Maybe they wouldn’t have a reason to think that if he started winning matches without help. Kane had been a nuisance, had broken up a pin, but Seth’s the one who used the briefcase to knock Dean loopy. Seth brought his own help into the ring. Roman hates him a little. He’s finally managed to hate Seth at least a _little_. It doesn’t feel good.

Dean tumbles into the room ten minutes later, while Bray Wyatt’s in the ring against Jericho. He doesn’t look as bad as Roman was expecting. Winded, rubbing his head, but he doesn’t look devastated, at least. He looks a little relieved. A little like at least he managed to get through the match.

Roman takes a deep breath. “I smell like him, don’t I?” he asks quietly.

Dean yanks his shirt over his head and throws it somewhere in the room, then shoves a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he says, short and blunt. “Thought I was imagining it, or like, like my mind was playing tricks on me, but it wasn’t. Was it?”

“Dean,” Roman says, leaning forward in his seat, but Dean cuts him off.

“No, no, I don’t wanna know. Y’know? I don’t wanna know.” Dean hasn’t sat down. He’s pacing, the length of the room, which must be frustratingly small right now. He doesn’t look relieved anymore. “I don’t, I don’t wanna know.”

“Dean, please,” says Roman. Please what, he doesn’t know.

“I thought, you know, it was fine. I thought it was fine, whatever, you don’t have to feel the same way I feel about shit, you can not give a shit that he’s been, he’s _been_ ,” Dean says, waving his hands. “Whatever, I knew you were talking to him anyway, and it was fine, like, you can talk to who you want, and if you left too then at least I’d be ready—“

“I wouldn’t,” Roman says, wanting to stand up but not wanting it to be seen as an offensive move. “Dean, I wouldn’t, I swear.”

“At least I’d be _ready_ ,” Dean says, dogged. “But I thought – what he said on – fuck you, you know that?” Dean kicks the half-empty water bottle on the floor and it sails past Roman’s head. “ _Fuck_ you, Roman.”

“I know,” Roman says, miserable. Dean’s not saying anything he hasn’t said to himself, but it hurts more when it’s Dean. He doesn’t deserve it any less, but it _hurts_. “I know.”

“You don’t fucking know,” Dean says. “You don’t have a fucking clue. At least he was upfront about it, right, like after the initial knife in my back, he didn’t pretend to _give a shit_ anymore. If you’d just fucking told me you picked him, why wouldn’t you just _go_? Why wouldn’t you just _leave_?”

Dean pauses there, seemingly waiting for an answer, but Roman doesn’t have one other than, “It wasn’t a choice. I wasn’t lying, I was always going to pick you over him if I had to.”

Dean laughs, edging on the wrong side of frenzied. “Which is why you didn’t tell me,” he says. “Because you didn’t want to choose. Because you wanted to pretend like everything was fucking fine, even though you knew it wasn’t.”

“Yeah,” Roman says. He can’t pretend it’s not true. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“I know I’m fucking right,” Dean says. He looks like he wishes he had another water bottle to kick. Roman doesn’t look away from him, even though Dean’s glare is something that makes him want to duck and run like the coward he is. 

Dean keeps pacing, like a caged animal, and Roman watches him.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” Dean bursts out. “Am I supposed to make you choose now? Is that what I’m supposed to do?”

“If that’s what you need to do,” Roman accepts. “It’s not a choice. I choose you. If you need me to do that, I’ll do it. I owe you that much.”

“Shut up,” Dean says absently. His pacing is less ferocious now, more of a stomp than a prowl. “What if I did? What if I told you it’s either me or him, or you and me ends here?”

“Dean,” Roman says. “It’s _not a choice_. I pick you.” He pauses, then adds, “I told him that. Before, before anything, I mean. I told him I’d never do to you what he did.”

“You did,” Dean says. It’s not delivered harshly, just matter-of-fact, but it still makes Roman flinch. “Don’t act like just because you were quieter about it means you didn’t know what it was.” 

“Okay.” Roman’s lips are dry, so he licks them. “Okay. You’re right.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Dean asks. It’s still rhetorical. “I wanna tell you to fuck off, never talk to me again, but that sounds horrible, you’re my brother, I don’t want to lose another one.”

“I’m sorry,” Roman says. He just realized he never said that. It should’ve been the first thing he said. “Fuck, Dean, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, that totally makes it better, that nobody fucking gives a shit about me, Roman, that makes it so much better, thank you, _thank you_ , Roman, I’m glad you’re fucking sorry,” Dean says. 

Roman swallows, and looks down for the first time during the conversation. He looks right back up, but he needed that second, just a second to at least try to say something, anything of value. “I do give a shit about you,” he says. “I know I fucked up. I know I did. And saying I’m sorry doesn’t make it better, and I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to make it better. I’ll block his number right now if that’s what you want. Anything.”

Dean’s stopped pacing. He narrows his eyes at Roman. “Will you.” It’s not a question.

Roman grabs his bag from the floor by his feet and digs through it until he finds his phone. His heart’s beating like he’s just had an hour long match. He loves Seth – more than loves Seth – but this is Dean. And Dean hasn’t done anything to deserve any of this. Dean is the one person in Roman’s life who has never left him when he needed him. If this is what Dean wants, Roman won’t ever speak to Seth again.

It makes a ball of nausea grow in Roman’s stomach, and constricts his fucking chest, but he’ll do it.

“Don’t,” Dean says. He sounds thoughtful. “Just, hold on a second.”

He pulls the chair he’d been sitting on earlier over, and sits in it backwards. It puts him very close to Roman, who doesn’t try to compensate for the space. Dean tilts his head, staring at him. Roman doesn’t say anything.

“Are you fucking him?” Dean says. It’s still in that thoughtful voice, which is why it takes Roman a second to realize what he’s actually said.

“What?” he blurts.

Dean huffs a little. “Are – you – fucking – him?” he repeats.

“No,” says Roman. It’s not even a lie. He can feel his face going red, but it’s not a lie. It’s not the whole truth, either. Half-truths aren’t good enough anymore. “Not, not really,” he amends. 

“So you want to be, you just haven’t yet,” Dean translates. He’s still scowling, but he doesn’t look like he’s going to throw any punches. “You’d really block his number if I told you to?”

“You’re… not going to tell me to?” Roman asks. He thinks that’s what Dean’s saying, anyway. He could be wrong. His phone’s still out either way. It buzzes in his hand, because Seth has the worst timing ever, and Roman and Dean both stare at it.

“Go ahead,” Dean says. It’s a challenge, sort of. “Read it. What’s it say?”

Roman swallows, and thumbs open the message.

**I think he let me pin him**

He stares at the message, then looks up at Dean, waiting expectantly.

“He says he thinks you let him pin you,” Roman says.

Dean’s mouth twists, and then he nods at the monitor. “Your match is next,” he says instead of answering the implied question there. “You’re gonna be late.”

“Shit,” Roman mutters, because Dean’s totally right, and he has no idea who won the match before his, but it’s definitely over, which means he needs to be not here.

He shoves his phone back in his bag while he stands, yanking his hair down out of its low bun. He should’ve been to his entrance point probably ten minutes ago, but this was more important.

“Who d’you got in this one?” Roman asks, desperate to know before he goes out there whether the only person whose opinion matters right now is still rooting for him to win.

Dean snorts, settling his arms on the top of the chair back. “Please,” he says. “I’d root for _Seth_ against Orton.”

Roman is seized by a bizarre sense of déjà vu. He shakes it off, and offers Dean a smile. It’s hopeful and tentative and Dean rolls his eyes, holding out his fist for Roman to bump against.

“I’m still pissed off,” Dean says frankly. “You still fucked up.”

“I know,” says Roman. “Can we talk about it? Later?”

“Ugh,” Dean says, wrinkling his nose. “I guess, if we have to. I’d rather just be pissed at you for a couple weeks and then pretend it didn’t happen.”

“Or that. Whatever you want.” Roman settles for ruffling Dean’s hair because he’s not getting his pre-match hug, and then he heads out the door and down the hallway in a near sprint.

He annihilates Randy Orton. He went into the match with a certain level of confidence – hard not to when, even apart, both his boys are still rooting for him – but there was still that niggling sense of doubt that can sometimes eat at him. It didn’t matter. Orton got some offense in, sure, but in the end, Roman’s the one who had his hand raised.

He gets back to the locker room with victory in his veins, and grins at Dean, sweat-soaked and still self-conscious but so, so satisfied.

Dean grins back at him, even. And he looks less wild around the eyes than he had when Roman left. 

“Seth says congrats,” Dean says casually, waving Roman’s phone at him. He was sure he put that in his bag. Not that that would matter to Dean. Not that it should. Still, Roman’s taken aback at the normalcy in Dean’s voice, whether it’s feigned or not.

“You two… having a chat?” he asks, shoving damp hair from his face, plunking down in his chair.

“Nah,” Dean says, gesturing with the phone. “He’s talkin’ to you. I’m reading what he’s saying. Hope you don’t mind.”

There’s a certain quality there that tells Roman he _better_ not mind, and he raises his hands to show he means no harm.

“Nope,” he says. “Don’t mind at all. Do whatever you want.”

“I’m gonna send him a message about how much you wanna suck his dick,” Dean says. He looks devilishly excited at the prospect. “I’m gonna tell him you’re into, like, peeing on people and shit.”

“Please don’t do that,” Roman requests.

“I’m going to,” Dean insists, but he doesn’t. He offers Roman his phone back instead. “He’d probably be into that shit. You don’t know him like I do.”

“I don’t think I want to.” Roman’s smiling. He can’t stop. Dean’s still pissed, and he knows it, but he’s at least still talking to Roman, and he won his first singles match on a pay-per-view, and everything seems tentatively okay. He glances over the messages from Seth.

**Maybe I hit his head too hard out there**

**Oh you’re on your way to the ring that’s why you’re not replying**

**You look hot**

Roman snorts at that one.

**Congrats. Knew you could do it. Love you, brother**

Roman looks at Dean through the curtain of his hair. Did that _brother_ sting? Did it hurt? Would Seth have sent it still if he’d known Dean would read it? What would Dean give for Seth to still talk to him like that? 

Instead of responding to any of the messages, Roman locks his phone and shoves it in his bag. “You want to get food?” he asks. They both still need to change out of disgusting ring gear – Roman likes how cool his makes him look, but damn if it doesn’t make him sweat like a pig – but he’s hoping Dean’s still willing to spend time with him. Hoping.

“Nobody else you’d rather do something with?” Dean asks. His voice is rock-steady and bland, not a hint of an accusation there.

“Not a one,” Roman says firmly. “Just you.”

Lesnar is still destroying Cena by the time they’ve quickly showered and changed. Roman makes a quiet noise of commiseration when Cena goes head over heels on the back of another suplex, a hiss through his teeth.

“Who’ve you got in that one?” Roman asks as they exit the arena. It’s easy enough to duck out through out-of-the-way passages and exits Dean somehow knows all of. The night air is humid and cool. “You haven’t been wrong so far.”

“Lesnar by a mile,” Dean says firmly. “No chance. And I did get one wrong.”

Roman considers that. Dean got all the other results right as far as he can tell. Apart from the one he was in. If he was expecting to win, that means he didn’t let Seth pin him, right? “Did you?” Roman asks.

Dean grumbles wordlessly, and Roman doesn’t ask again.

They find a pizza place with one guy in it who’s getting ready to close up but willing enough to make them pizza first. Roman pays him way too much money for them and doesn’t ask for change. 

It’s easier, somehow, when they’re back in their hotel room. Feels more natural, sat across from each other on the bed, the pizza box between them, the door locked, Roman’s phone still in his bag. It’s just them. Them against the world, as Dean put it once.

“Okay,” Dean says, flicking semolina off of his fingertips into the empty box. “You wanted to talk. Let’s talk.”

Roman flips the top shut on the box and tucks it down onto the floor. He’s stalling for time, and he knows it, and Dean knows it. “Think I might be in love with him?”

Roman is the worst person in the world at every possible thing. It’s like his brain picked the worst thing anybody could say in this situation and threw it out as a conversation opener.

Except Dean just flaps his hand with mild annoyance and says, “Who isn’t? I’m talking about why you didn’t tell me.”

“What do you mean who isn’t?” Roman asks. That was not a response that he was expecting in the slightest, and considering all the confessions of love Dean’s been throwing at Seth in the ring, he’s a little concerned.

Dean still looks more irritable than anything else. “He’s the fucking golden boy and he always has been,” he says. “They call him a sellout suckup now but they’ll still buy his t-shirt and cheer him if he does a cool flippy thing.”

“Oh.” That makes sense. That makes a lot more sense than what Roman was thinking. “Right. So, why I didn’t tell you.”

“Mhm.” Dean swipes his wrist across his mouth. “Why you decided to be a backstabbing asshole,” he prompts.

“I think backstabbing’s kind of a strong word,” says Roman weakly.

“I don’t,” Dean says, and that’s that.

“Right,” says Roman. He laces his fingers. “Okay. Mostly because I knew you’d think it meant I was okay with the shit he pulls on you, and I’m not. Never have been, and I tell him he’s a dick every time. And because I didn’t want you to think you had to get away from me before I got away from you. Which is selfish, but it’s true, and I’m trying that out for size.”

“You are okay with it, though,” Dean says. He has his hands cupped and his chin propped in them, elbows precariously balanced on his knees. “Or you wouldn’t be all whatever with him.”

“I shouldn’t be,” Roman admits. “Anything terrible you wanna call me, I’ve probably already called myself. It’s just, sometimes he seems…”

He trails off, but Dean doesn’t let him stop there.

“Seems?”

“Like he regrets it,” Roman finishes. “And I know that’s stupidly naïve of me to think, but it’s hard not to hope for.”

“It is naïve,” Dean says. Never one to pull punches, is Dean. But he continues, “I told you once that I thought if anyone could change his mind, you could. I still think that’s true.”

“But you don’t think it’s going to happen,” says Roman.

Dean frowns to himself, snatching his water off the nightstand between the beds. “I think if anyone could, you could,” he repeats. “And I think you can do just about anything you put your mind to. I just think he probably can, too. And I don’t know what he wants. Not anymore.”

Roman doesn’t know what to say after that. He takes a minute to think about it. 

“I don’t think there’s anything I can _do_ to make you trust me again,” he says quietly. “I don’t know if you’re going to, and I wouldn’t blame you if you decided to keep me at arm’s length. I should’ve told you and I didn’t. I don’t have excuses for you.”

“Good. I’d punch you if you gave ‘em to me.” Dean drums his fingers on his thigh. “I want to trust you still,” he says. He’s talking slowly, like he’s thinking over each word before he says it. “I mean, you’re my best friend. You’re my only friend, I guess, but you’re the best one I’ve _had_. It just sucks that you didn’t tell me,” he concludes. “Part of me still thinks you’re gonna go turncoat on me and join the Authority and talk like a dick and wear stupid shiny shoes.”

“And the other part?” Roman asks, almost holding his breath.

Dean squints at him. “The other part of me knows hell’d freeze over before you’d voluntarily join a group Randy Orton was in,” he says. “And you’re obviously loyal, even if the people you’re loyal to don’t deserve it and are little sniveling shitstains.”

“The other people in Orton’s group don’t even want Orton in the group,” Roman mumbles. “Seth can’t stand him.”

“Good to know he’s still got some sense,” Dean comments, slipping off the bed and grabbing the pizza box, putting it on the little table in the corner before he pads toward the bathroom. “I’m gonna grab another shower. Still feel grimy.”

“Yeah, of course. No problem.” Roman scoots around to sit at the head of the bed, which is his, anyway. “I’m pretty beat, so I’ll catch mine in the morning.”

“Smelling up our room all night,” Dean comments, leaning against the door instead of going into it. “That’s really inconsiderate of you, Roman.”

It’s a relief to hear the friendly mockery in Dean’s voice. “It’s kind of my thing,” Roman says. He stretches, arms reaching toward the ceiling. His back cracks, and he groans.

Dean snorts, and then disappears into the bathroom.

Roman waits until he hears the water start running to relax. He needs to think over everything that’s happened tonight. It’s like he crammed months and months into the past six hours, and his brain is still trying to process all of it.

So, he got to see Seth. He got to touch Seth. Got to hear those noises he was dying to hear in person. It wasn’t enough, wasn’t near enough, but it was something, at least. And Dean knows – whether he knows what they were doing, it doesn’t really matter. He knows Roman was with Seth tonight. Roman’s planned out how to tell Dean a hundred times, and never went through with any of those plans. This wasn’t one of his plans.

He was never the planner, anyway. That was always Seth, and Dean’s pretty good at it, too. Roman’s personal philosophy has always been to bulldoze through his opposition until it’s flat on the ground. He’s never had much need for plans, because other people could make them for him. He should start figuring out how to do that. Maybe Dean’ll teach him.

Dean knows. Seth does not know Dean knows, and Roman should let him know, just in case Dean’s secretly planning on murdering him. He digs in his bag for his phone and shoots Seth a quick text.

**dean knows about you & me**

He drops his phone onto the bed while he gets changed into something more comfortable than jeans, not expecting his phone to start ringing instead of buzzing with a text message.

Roma fumbles with it as he picks it up, checking the display to make sure it’s actually who he’s expecting it to be before he slides to accept the call, glancing at the bathroom door and then moving to open the door to the balcony.

“What the hell?” is his greeting into the phone as the cool breeze of late night Los Angeles blows his hair back off his face. 

“What the hell yourself, what the fuck do you mean Dean knows?” Seth says to him. He sounds both alarmed and angry. “I just did up the chain on my door but he’ll chew through it and you know he will.”

“Calm down,” Roman say, leaning against the railing, equal parts amused and genuinely concerned. For all that Dean had seemed, if not _happy_ with Roman, at least willing to stick around with him, he knows that doesn’t mean Dean’s not also pissed at Seth still. Pissed and sad and probably feeling doubly, triply betrayed now. “He’s pissed, but he’s not gonna track you down. Least not tonight,” Roman clarifies.

“That’s reassuring, thanks,” Seth snipes back. “At least he has the decency to postpone my murder ‘til tomorrow.”

“He’s not gonna kill you. I think he’s more angry at me at this point than he is at you,” Roman admits, glancing over his shoulder like he’ll be able to see through the balcony curtain and the bathroom door. “Or maybe not. You’ve kind of been a dick to him.”

“Not helping,” Seth grunts. Roman picks at the peeling paint on the railing. “Well? How’d it go, if he’s not going to be standing over me in the middle of the night with a knife?”

“No promises; I can’t keep an eye on him every hour of the day,” Roman jokes, but Seth groans, and he drops the forced levity. “Nah, I don’t know. I don’t know. He was… real angry, I mean, I’ve basically been lying to him this whole time. He shouted a lot. Thought he was gonna hit me once or twice. He’s calmed down, but I don’t know how much of that is him actually dealing with it and how much of it is just, you know, Dean.”

“Yeah, I know,” Seth mumbles into the phone. It’s followed by a long sigh. “Shit, I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to cause problems between you two because I know you’d never forgive me for that. No matter how much I like fucking with him, I know there’s a line, and I’ve crossed it a couple times.”

“More’n a couple,” Roman replies. He’s destroying the paint job on this railing. “I asked if he wanted me to block your number.”

He thinks he actually hears Seth swallow at that. “Clearly, you didn’t,” he says.

“I was all ready to,” Roman admits. Even though Seth must know by now that Roman has to, _has_ to put Dean first, he can’t help but wonder if he comes out of this losing both of them – Seth knowing he loves Dean too much and Dean thinking the opposite. It’d be what he deserves, probably. He’s fucked all of this up. Seth dealt the first blow but Roman’s was the harshest. “And then he told me not to. Then he asked if we were fucking,” Roman recalls.

“Oh my god,” Seth says. He sounds both mortified and – is that laughter? Roman thinks it is, just a hiccup of it, but laughter all the same. “Of course he did. What’d you say?”

“I think I said ‘not really,’” Roman replies. That makes Seth laugh again, and for a second it’s just a normal conversation, the two of them chatting about something ridiculous Dean’s done. That flash is gone in a second, but the warm, pleasant feeling of it lingers in Roman’s stomach. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” Roman admits. “He’s in the shower. If he does end up asking me to choose, you know what that has to mean.”

“I know.” There’s no bitterness in Seth’s voice. At least none that Roman can read. Resignation, a little, but there’s none of the accusatory spite that Roman might’ve expected. “We all do the things we have to do, don’t we?”

“I told him,” Roman says. His mouth is dry, and he coughs, then clears his throat, but his voice still creaks a little and his statement is more of a question. “I told him I think I’m in love with you?”

Seth makes a sound, something involuntary, not quite a gasp, a little _oh_ of surprise. 

Roman jumps as the balcony door slides open behind him, and he turns to see Dean clad in boxers leaning against the frame, eyeing Roman.

“That him?” Dean asks, nodding toward the phone.

Roman nods, wondering whether he should just end the call now or whether he should wait, because he just dropped something pretty heavy on Seth.

“Tell him hi from me,” Dean offers. “Pepper in a few ‘you asshole’s and ‘watch your back’s. I gotta reputation to uphold.”

“Uh,” Roman says into the phone.

“Yeah, I heard,” Seth says. He sounds bewildered. Roman’s not doing much better. Coming from Dean, that’s downright friendly. “He look like he’s plotting my murder?”

“No,” Roman says, watching Dean’s hair drip onto his neck. He’s not sure what the look on Dean’s face is, actually. “Maybe?” he amends.

“Great,” Seth says, overlapped with Dean’s, “Get off the phone, I wanna talk to you.”

Shit. He guesses he is leaving it there, then. Dean has the worst timing in the world, but he’s probably entitled to it, so Roman says, “I gotta go,” into the phone.

“Yeah.” Seth lets out a rush of breath that makes the earpiece crackle. “Yeah. Gotcha. But we’ll talk later? I’ll text you, maybe? Or something?”

“Sure,” Roman says. Dean’s starting to look impatient. “I’ll give it a shot.”

“Love you,” Seth says, and the expression on Roman’s face must change, because Dean narrows his eyes, but a bolt of electricity just went up Roman’s spine. He has no idea how Seth just meant that.

“You, too,” he says, and he knows how _he_ means it. That electric feeling remains, bits of static crackling in Roman’s veins even as he ends the call.

“Good,” Dean says, turning around and returning to the room. Roman guesses he’s supposed to follow, so he does, sliding the balcony door closed behind him. “I did some thinking,” Dean says as soon as Roman’s also in the room. He takes the couple of steps over to the far bed, dropping down on it. Roman sits on his own, careful, cautious.

“Okay,” Roman says. “I’m guessing you’ve made some decisions?”

Dean hums, tucking his feet up so he can sit cross-legged on the bed. “Kinda,” he says. “I have to ask you a couple things, have to tell you a couple things.”

“I’m all ears.” Roman sets his phone very deliberately on the nightstand, where they can both see it. He won’t pick it up again until Dean’s finished. 

“I was thinking about how much I really, really want to hate Seth,” Dean says. He looks almost serene. “Because I really want to. It’d make a bunch of shit a whole lot easier, right? If I could just look at him and think, hey, that guy I hate. But I can’t do that. I’ve been fucking trying to do that for the past two months and I just can’t do it. I look at him and my first thought is that it’s _Seth_ , you know? It’s Seth, that guy I think’s really cool, my brother, Seth.”

Dean’s words are all tumbling over each other, some starting before others end. It’s the opposite of how he was talking earlier, thinking over every word, feeling them in his mouth before he said them. Now, he just wants to get them out.

“And that was find, because I don’t have to hate him to fight him, I just have to fight him, I can pretend to hate him, I can pretend that I don’t care about him anymore, ‘cause he doesn’t care about me anymore, and that was fine. That was _fine_.” Dean looks at Roman, eyes slightly wider than they normally are. It obviously wasn’t fine. Roman nods anyway.

“But I still don’t hate him,” Dean says. “Two months of this shit, of him tearing me apart, him talking like we were never even anything, like I didn’t matter at all to him. Still can’t hate him. But finding out you and him were hanging out five minutes before I’m supposed to have a match against him, that almost did it. I could almost hate him, because he didn’t just turn on me, then, did he? He turned you on me, too.”

“No,” Roman says, even though he’d sworn to himself he was just going to let Dean talk. “No, he didn’t, Dean—“

“I’m talking first reaction,” Dean says, waving away Roman’s protests. “I mean, I’m still a little, you know, I’m still a little sure you and him are planning on riding off into the sunset together and leaving me behind. But that’s just my head, mostly. That’s just the part of me that’s always been waiting for you to fuck off so you don’t have to deal with me anymore.”

Dean looks raw. Roman doubts he’s ever said any of this out loud. He doubts Dean’s ever even let himself think about it for very long.

“Point is,” Dean says firmly. “Point is, I can’t hate him. I’ve tried. So if I can’t hate him for being a cowardly zit on the face of humanity, I guess it’d be pretty fucked up of me to hate you for not being able to, either.”

He pauses long enough that Roman thinks maybe he’s supposed to say something. He licks his lips. “I still wouldn’t,” he says. “I mean – the sunset thing. I know there’s no way you’d be able to accept that that’s true, especially not now, but it is true. I meant it when I said I’d choose if you made me.”

“About that,” Dean says. He doesn’t address the other thing Roman said. Roman wasn’t expecting him to. “About that.”

Roman feels like his lungs constrict, like his ribs are too tight. “About that,” he repeats, his fingers twisting in his lap. He’d do it. He told Dean he would, and he will. He’d have left it like that, told Seth _that_ and left it with no response, and he’d always wonder, it’d nag at him for the rest of forever, probably, but he’d do it.

“I don’t want you to choose,” Dean says. It’s not what Roman’s expecting. Dean’s good at doing that to him, but even still, Roman shakes his head like there’s water in his ears.

“You don’t?” he asks, confused.

Dean’s even smiling a little. A tiny thing, more an upturn at the corners of his lips than anything else. “I don’t,” he confirms. “You’d get all sulky, and I hate when you’re in a pissy mood.”

“Dean, seriously,” Roman insists.

“Seriously,” Dean says. “Have you been around you when you’re in a snit?” 

“Dean,” says Roman. The smile on Dean’s face fades, and he sighs, looks like he wants to roll his eyes again, but Roman doesn’t care. This is important.

“Way I see it,” Dean says, gesturing with one hand like he’s weighing something. “I tell you to never talk to him again, you do it, sure, I believe you. I believe you’d do that. But you’d hate it. You’d hate it, and eventually, you’d hate me. No good.”

“I wouldn’t,” Roman mutters. He can’t see a way he could ever hate Dean. Dean ignores him, though, and does the same weighing gesture with his other hand.

“Or, you do your thing and I do my thing and it stays the way it’s been. Seth and I keep beating the shit out of each other, probably. I stay the fuck out of your shit with him. You stay the fuck out of my shit with him. Life goes on.” Dean drops both of his hands. “I’ll settle for one brother that can’t stand me. I’m not about to make it both of ‘em.”

“Dean,” Roman says. So much of their conversations involve him just saying Dean’s name with different inflections. He doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t know how he can possible tell Dean what this means. He doesn’t know how to say out loud, _you don’t have to do this for me, you already do so much for me, I love you, you are worth ten of me_. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” says Dean. He’s fiddling with the knuckles of one hand, tapping and twisting and feeling the shape of them with his fingers. “You, you’re my best friend. You’re the only one of those I’ve got. Everything, everything I got in me is telling me to drop you and run like hell. Six months ago, maybe I would’ve.”

He shrugs, one foot shaking with the jittery nervousness that comes with too much caffeine. Roman watches the shake, remembering nights when Dean would tuck himself up behind Roman and keep him on the edge of sleep because his damn foot wouldn’t stop dancing.

“But I can’t do that,” Dean says. “Because you’re an asshole, and you made me need you, you made me need someone who’ll keep me from running.” He snorts, and shakes his head. “Swear to god, you’d probably follow me, anyway. Drag me back by my ear and tell me I was crazy for thinking I could leave you behind.”

Roman’s throat is dry, and when he swallows, it hurts, like when he broke his arm in eighth grade and it hurt so bad he wanted to cry but he didn’t want to look like a little kid in front of his cool friends.

“You’re my best friend, too,” he says. His voice is rough, and he clears his throat. “You know that. You know I’d do anything for you.”

“Roman,” says Dean, and Roman almost laughs at the role reversal.

“I would,” he insists.

“Okay,” Dean accepts, or says, at least. “Okay. I’m telling you not to. I’m telling you that you don’t have to do this for me. You owe me, like, a hundred pizzas and we’ll call it even.”

Roman watches Dean’s foot tap some more. He wants to tell Dean not to do this, because he knows Dean’s not actually as okay with it as he seems, and because there’s still so much potential for this to blow up in his face, so many ways this could end horribly. And Dean isn’t asking him what the hell he’s doing, or telling him that he’s making a mistake. He’s giving Roman this option, where he can have this, and feel like everything’s back to normal. Just for a little while.

He’s felt so off kilter for months, his two favorite people fighting a war with each other. 

“You want all those pizzas at once, or?” Roman tries to smile and it comes more easily than he’s expecting. Dean throws a pillow at him and then complains for the next half hour about how he’ll never be able to get to sleep without proper neck support, until Roman pegs the pillow back at him and knocks over the lamp.

Once they’ve righted the lamp (Roman’s righted the lamp, while Dean laughed and did nothing to help) and it’s turned off, the conversation’s much lighter. They should’ve gotten to sleep long ago, and while they exchange jokey insults in the dark of the room, quiet, their voices lazy and exhausted, Roman does his best not to think about what tomorrow brings for them and for their former (current, forever, more than) brother.

“Dean?” Roman asks, his words half-muffled by his pillow. The night is catching up with him – he had his first pay-per-view singles match earlier, and he won. He won. He won his match and he got to kiss Seth and Dean doesn’t hate him for doing it.

There’s a shuffling of sheets like Dean’s turning over even though there’s no way that he can see Roman with how dark the room is. They’ve pulled the curtains and the only light now is what’s creeping underneath them and the red display on the alarm clock.

“What?” Dean asks. Roman can feel him looking over even if he can’t see it.

“You ever put that pickle on your mantle?”

It’s quiet for a moment, and then Dean’s creaky laugh fills the room, a laugh like a door with squeaking hinges. “Course I did, man. Next to all my Little League trophies.”

Dean’s never done Little League. Roman smiles into his pillow and when he wakes up, he feels more refreshed than he’s felt in a long time.

Even Dean seems to have slept well. He’s not exactly a morning person, ever, but he’s less grumpy than he usually gets when he’s just woken up, and he’s even saying words that aren’t curses by the time they’re halfway through breakfast.

While he’s spearing a sausage link, he checks his messages. He’d seen that he had a few from Seth when he picked up his phone this morning, but he hadn’t bothered to look to see what they’d said. It’s weird to be open about it, sitting here with Dean right there and reading Seth’s text messages to him. Roman glances up while he’s opening them and Dean doesn’t even look bothered, glaring at the scrambled eggs on his plate.

“What’d those eggs ever do to you?” Roman asks while he glances over the messages.

**Let me know if I should hire a bodyguard**

**One better than Kane he’s useless and he snores**

The last one, sent about an hour ago, says, **We should talk btw** and that kind of terrifies Roman.

“Why’d I get scrambled?” Dean asks in a mumble, pushing them around his plate with his fork. “I hate scrambled. Why’d I get scrambled?”

Roman laughs as he taps back to Seth. **no bodyguard needed but maybe a helmet** “I told you.”

Every time they get breakfast, Dean forgets that he hates scrambled eggs. Every single time. Roman tells him every single time, too, but Dean’s always insistent that he knows his own mouth, thank you very much. And then he grumbles when he hates his eggs.

“Yeah, you told me,” Dean mutters, scowling like the eggs have wronged him and then shoving them off to one side of his plate to eat his hash browns instead.

Apart from one more text from Seth ( **A helmet???** ) and Dean deciding to find out whether the scrambled eggs will taste better with grape jelly on them (they don’t), the rest of breakfast passes without much incident. 

From the second they get to the arena for Raw, it becomes clear that ‘passing without much incident’ isn’t the theme for the rest of the day. 

The show after a pay-per-view is always hectic, and everyone’s reeling from the main event last night. Cena’s not even there. Brock Lesnar is, title belt in hand, and everybody’s steering a wide path around him and Paul Heyman, not that either of them have many friends in the locker room anyway. Roman goes out of his way, though, to congratulate Dolph on his win. They’re not friends, by any stretch of the imagination, but Dolph is a guy who’s worked damn hard in order to get what he has, and refuses to let it go. Roman can relate, a little.

“You know where I can find a bucket?” is the first thing Dean says to him when Roman returns to the locker room. He blinks, dropping his bag.

“Janitor’s closet?” he guesses. “Might have one in the trainer’s room. What are you up to?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Dean assures, still fastening his belt. “I’m, you know, that ice bucket thing.”

“Someone nominated _you_?” Roman asks. He hadn’t been aware anybody would be brave enough to try. Except Dean just grins at him, wide and bright.

“Nope,” he says, patting Roman on the shoulder as he goes by. 

Roman doesn’t see him again until he sees him on the monitor, and he finds out what Dean needed the bucket for. He’s still laughing when the monitor shows Seth storming into Triple H’s office, but that fades when he listens to what Seth has to say.

Another match between Seth and Dean tonight, that’s fine, Roman’s half expecting them to keep having matches against each other for the next ten years. It’s the way Seth and Triple H are talking, like there’s something else, like there’s a _plan_ , like something else is going to happen other than a match. The word _permanently_ keeps ringing in Roman’s head. What the hell kind of game is Seth playing?

Roman snatches his phone to send Seth a message saying exactly that, but he already has two texts from Seth in his inbox: **We all have parts to play** and then, sent a minute later, **Believe in me**.

What the hell is Roman supposed to say to that? What is he supposed to think? He doesn’t have time to consider it – Dean comes bursting through the door, and Roman’s left to put his phone away and wonder what the rest of the night will bring.

He has a match. He likes tag matches, usually, but he can’t help but feel constantly when he’s in six-man tags that his partners should be Seth and Dean. He doesn’t have a problem with RVD or Sheamus, particularly, but they’re not his partners. They’re not his boys.

He does love putting the hurt on Randy Orton, though. He’ll tag with just about anybody, for that.

RVD offers him a smile when they get to the back, but doesn’t hang around. Sheamus, though, sticks by Roman as he starts the jaunt back to his and Dean’s locker room, talking all the way. His title is over his shoulder. Roman still has a hard time thinking of it as anybody’s title other than Dean’s. Dean made a big show when he had it over not caring about championships, tossing the belt around when he was on the show. But Roman had watched the way he tried to make sure the faceplate didn’t get fingerprints all over it, and he’d seen how devastated Dean was when he lost it.

“Anyway,” says Sheamus, clapping Roman on the back, apparently done with his story that Roman feels chagrined not to have been listening to. “Good match tonight. You’re going places, you really are.”

“I sure hope so,” Roman murmurs. He spares a nod as Sheamus heads off down the hallway, remembering when Sheamus would’ve spit on him as soon as look at him. Things have changed since then.

And things have definitely stayed the same, he notes, closing the door behind him and watching silently, a smile on his face, as Dean warms up for his match by doing various kinds of pushups and humming.

“You good?” he checks, crossing over to his bag. He checks his phone, and he doesn’t have any more texts from Seth, but he does have a voicemail message? Dean hops to his feet and chews his gum obnoxiously in Roman’s direction. 

“Yeah, great, actually,” Dean replies. He bounces on the balls of his feet. “Never been better. Can’t wait to kill your little boyfriend.”

“Shut up,” Roman huffs. He’s already feeling overheated because all the damn heat he generates when he’s wrestling stays trapped between his skin and his gear, but now he’s pretty sure his face is heating up, and Dean’s grinning at him like he’s won something. “What kind of match are you hoping for?”

“Doesn’t matter. They’re all kinda the same thing anyway.” Dean bounces from foot to foot, considering. “Maybe falls count anywhere. I’ll fight him out into the parking lot.”

“I think they’re announcing it soon,” Roman says, glancing at the monitor. Seth and Dean are the main event. He feels a little like a proud father, even if they’re in the main event to beat the hell out of each other. “You should get to curtain.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says. He takes the two steps to Roman and leans up, and Roman doesn’t move as Dean kisses his head. It’s just something Dean does sometimes. Roman’s learned not to question it. “I got a good feeling about tonight.”

“Really?” Roman asks. He does, too, though he couldn’t say why. Nothing’s changed, exactly, and Seth’s mysterious texts are still churning in his head.

“Yeah.” Dean smiles at him, making his way backwards to the door. “No idea why. Could be totally wrong and I’m about to get my head chopped off. Maybe there’s a secret ‘loser gets their head chopped off’ option on the poll.”

“I really don’t think so.” Roman shakes his head. “Get out of here, you.”

“I’m goin’,” Dean says, and he laughs, quiet and light. Once he’s gone out the door, Roman dials his voicemail.

“Hi,” says Seth’s voice. He sounds harried, rushed. “You’re in the ring right now, I don’t have much time. Look, there’s – there’s something happening tonight, I don’t think I get to find out until I go out there, but it’s nothing good. I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s supposed to happen during, or after, or, I just know… Roman,” he says. “You need to stay in the back. You told me if you had to choose, you told me. Now I do. I need you to trust me. I haven’t given you a single fucking reason to trust me, but I need you to, anyway.”

There’s a loud sound on the other end, and then silence, except for Seth breathing hard into the phone.

“Shit,” he says after a long moment. “Shit, okay, I gotta go. I just – I think I’m about to do something so fucking stupid. I’m about to do something so stupid.”

Then there’s a click as the voicemail ends, and the lady asks if Roman wants to save the message.

He automatically does, and lowers his phone from his ear. He understood, well, some of that. Something bad is going to happen. Seth wants Roman not to go out there when whatever bad thing that’s supposed to happen does happen. He wants Roman to trust him. And he’s about to do something stupid.

That all adds up to nothing good, in Roman’s opinion, but Dean’s music is already playing on the monitor, he’s already out there, and there’s nothing Roman can do to warn him.

He could go out there anyway. Nothing’s happened yet, though, and Dean probably wouldn’t appreciate it much if Roman stormed out there during his match and dragged him away from it for no visible reason. His nerves are all on edge. That word comes back to him, the one from when Seth and Triple H had been talking: permanently. Take Dean out permanently.

He wants to go out there. He can’t go out there.

Roman watches as the match gets underway, falls count anywhere, they’d said. He hopes Dean _does_ wrestle Seth out to the parking lot, just so that they won’t be in the arena. Unless that’s what the bad thing is. Unless they need to be outside for it.

Angrily, Roman tears at the fastens of his ring gear, nearly ripping it as he changes into street clothes. He’s useless back here. He needs to be out there but he _can’t_ be, and even Seth hadn’t known what was going on, so how can Roman? He has this furious need to protect what he considers his, but he has no way of doing it.

It’s a good match, from what Roman can tell. Brutal and fast-paced and neither of them holds back. He’s on edge the entire time, waiting, waiting.

Then Kane shows up at ringside.

Roman growls under his breath. Is this reason enough to go out there? Probably not. Dean could take Kane, probably, even if Seth was still on his tail. He told Roman forever ago to let him deal with Seth alone, and Roman hates it, and now Seth’s told him the same thing.

He’s pacing the room, looking between the monitor and the door. This match is hell to watch but he has to. He needs to be out there. They’d both hate him for going out there now but he wants to, he needs to, he can’t. He can’t. 

The tone of the announcers’ voices change. When Roman looks at the screen, Kane and Seth are double-teaming Dean, who looks like he’s been knocked for a loop, and then – then Roman sees the bricks.

He stares. They can’t be serious can they? They can’t be doing this, they just can’t, but Seth is hauling Dean on top of the announce table, and he delivers a nasty looking curb stomp to him. Dean’s in no position to defend himself. Every muscle in Roman’s body, every instinct Roman has is telling him to go out there. Go out there. Help Dean. Dean would spit and swear at him for it but he would be safe.

Kane’s dragging Dean off the table, positioning his head above the bricks, and Seth’s still standing on the announce table, poised to jump off. Poised to stomp Dean’s head into those bricks.

His voice rings through Roman’s head – _I need you to trust me_. Does he? Does he trust Seth? He needs to be _out there_ , who knows what could happen to Dean if he gets his head put through those things? Concussion for sure, possibly worse, and Roman would’ve just been sitting back here doing _nothing_ —

Kane is shouting at Seth to do it, and Seth’s face is stone cold. That scares Roman. Seth doesn’t look even a little like he’s hesitating.

He kicks Kane in the head.

Roman blinks.

“What?” he says aloud as Seth hops down from the table, light on his feet as always. His kick put Kane on the ground, probably as much from surprise as anything, and he’s scowling, glancing over his shoulder toward the entrance, then crouching down near Dean. He says something – Roman can’t read lips, and he’s still a little in shock, but it looks like ‘You good?’ – and then. And then Dean pops up onto his feet. He looks a little worse for wear, but not nearly dead, like he’d looked when Kane had him by the throat.

“What?” he repeats, as Dean looks down at Kane, then jerks his head to the side. He’s looking with obvious wariness at Seth, but when Kane starts stirring, they scramble over the barricade together. Seth pauses in their escape to reach over and grab his briefcase from next to Justin Roberts, and then they’re off. It’s like nothing’s changed at all. It’s like nothing from the last two months happened.

The audience has no idea what’s going on, all shouting, the cameras are trying to catch Dean and Seth as they move through the crowd at near sprints, and Roman has no idea what’s going on.

 _I’m about to do something so stupid_. God, Seth wasn’t kidding, was he? Even just considering his position with the Authority, that’s ruined. His fancy suits and everything. Gone. At least he won’t have to go to any more meetings.

Roman laughs and it sounds hysterical. What has Seth done?

The door to the locker room almost slams off his hinges when it opens, Seth and Dean trying to fit through it at the same time, and Roman stares at them until they manage to get untangled.

“Get your stuff, we’ve got, like, a minute and a half to get out of here,” Seth says, looking over his shoulder. He did that out by the announce table, too, like he was expecting to get attacked from behind at all times. Roman guesses that’s understandable. Right now, Seth has absolutely no allies in this company.

Apart from Roman. He nods.

“Got it,” he says, even though he doesn’t know what’s going on, still. Dean’s breathing heavily, leaning against one of the chairs, trying to catch his breath, and Roman grabs his bag at the same time he grabs his own. “You got yours?”

“No,” Seth says. He looks frantic and frazzled and Roman wants to kiss him. This isn’t the right time for that. “No, I hid it, though, if we move fast I think I can grab it. Fuck. Fuck. What did I just do?”

“Freak out later.” That’s Dean’s voice, rough and harsh. When Roman looks at him, he swipes his wrist across his mouth, sweaty and beat up and not – not with his head put through cinder blocks. Roman grabs Dean’s shoulder, just to feel him there and safe and if not okay then at least upright. “Yeah, you just fucked yourself over big time. We need a car.”

“I got the keys to the rental,” Roman announces, holding them up, and Seth laughs, shoving his hair back out of his face, pressing one fist into his eye. He takes a deep breath.

“I had a driver,” Seth says. “When I got to the arena, I had a _driver_.”

“And now you’re slumming it with the rest of us peasants,” Dean says, knocking his shoulder into Seth’s as he passes to look and see who’s in the hallway. “Come on. We gotta go.”

They have to make a loop around into the back of the arena to get Seth’s bag where he stowed it between two crates, and then they manage to get to the car from there. There’s a moment, sitting in the car, Roman in the driver’s seat, Dean next to him, Seth in the back, where Roman has the weirdest sense of dissociation, like this can’t possibly be real. This is how he spent almost every day from November 2012 up until June of 2014. 

“Drive,” Dean says, gripping Roman’s arm like he knows. He knows.

The ride back to the hotel is silent. Roman doubts any of them knows what to say. Roman had wanted to ask that morning why Dean was still rooming with him, in the hotel, when his place is just down the road, practically, but he didn’t really want to poke the bear. He’s grateful for it now.

They’re in the parking lot before anybody says anything. Roman maneuvers into a parking space and turns the car off, and Seth says, “Oh my god.”

“Yeah, you did that,” Dean says, rolling his head to look back at Seth. Roman looks into the rearview. Seth looks shellshocked.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Seth repeats. He’s clutching his briefcase like somebody might snatch it away from him. He’s got a shirt on, now, which he must’ve pulled out of his bag. It’s an Authority t-shirt. Roman wants to burn it.

“Let’s just get inside,” Roman says, trying to make his voice soothing. Honestly, he’s still kind of where Seth is. He has no idea what’s going on. Did Dean know about this when he went out there? Did Dean know about this at all? Did Seth even know about this? Did he go out there knowing he was going to do this? He must have, considering that voicemail he left Roman. He must’ve known he was going to do this, but he obviously didn’t think it all the way through.

They sure make a sight in the hotel lobby, Dean in his sweat-stained tank top and jeans and wrestling boots, a bruise forming on his arm that looks like it’s going to hurt something fierce in the morning, and Seth with his catsuit pants and his gold briefcase. Roman cuts an imposing figure anyway, but with those two in addition to him, nobody bothers them as they head for the elevator.

Seth still looks like he has no idea what he’s doing or where he is. His briefcase swings from his hand, his bag from the other, and he stares at the wall of the elevator all the way up.

The second the door closes behind them, Dean says, “I’m taking a fucking shower, I feel disgusting,” and strips his shirt over his head, tossing it into the corner of the room.

“Uh,” says Roman.

Dean gestures toward Seth. “Talk to your boy,” he says, already unfastening his belt. “Fuck if I know what the hell’s going through his head.”

 _Your boy_. Not the important part of that sentence. Dean disappears into the bathroom before Roman can say anything else to him.

That leaves Roman and Seth alone. Seth looks at Roman like he might have the answers, but Roman doesn’t have any more than Seth does.

“Sit?” Roman asks, and Seth sits, on the end of the bed, his briefcase in his lap. Roman sits next to him. “What happened?” he asks gently.

“I could’ve done it,” Seth says, looking sideways at Roman. His voice is quiet, but there’s no doubt in it. “I really could’ve, I think. I could’ve done it. I could’ve put his head through those things.”

“But you didn’t,” Roman points out.

Seth sighs, and his grip on the briefcase finally relaxes a little. “I didn’t,” he agrees. “You would’ve hated me. I thought about doing it anyway. Just so you wouldn’t have to choose. So you wouldn’t have to pick because I know who you’d pick. So I thought about doing it. That way, I’d never have to be the one you didn’t choose.”

Roman looks at him, where Seth is staring at the _Money in the Bank_ on his briefcase, tracing the lettering. “You’re kind of scary sometimes,” he says frankly.

Seth laughs, huffed under his breath. “Thanks, I think.”

“What did you do, anyway?” Roman asks. “It looked – it looked like he was in on it.”

“He wasn’t. Not, not until the middle of the match,” Seth says. “I didn’t pull any of my punches, but I tried to tell him – I thought maybe he could get out of there before anything happened, but with the falls counting anywhere, that wouldn’t have worked anyway. So before I hit the, the first one, I told him to pretend he was worse off than he was. Didn’t expect him to listen to me.”

“He had a good feeling about tonight,” Roman remembers, his brows pulling together. “He was in a real good mood before the match.”

“Glad someone was. I was trying not to have a heart attack.” Seth shakes his head. “I don’t know. I could’ve done it, but I couldn’t do it. You, you made me, I don’t know – I love you,” he says suddenly.

Roman sits up straighter. Seth, on the other hand, looks mortified.

“Oh, god, I was really not, I had a whole, I planned out how I was going to say it,” Seth says. He sounds apologetic. Roman feels like there is moonlight in his veins. “I, uh, I didn’t really get to say. Last night. Seems like the kind of thing you should probably know.”

Seth’s mouth is dry when Roman kisses him, but he doesn’t care, because Seth fists a hand in Roman’s shirt so tightly he thinks it might tear, and he just pulls him closer. The briefcase thuds to the ground, and Seth doesn’t even seem to care, hooking his other arm around Roman’s neck and kissing him deeper.

They’re still kissing when, from the bathroom doorway, there’s a snort. 

“Alright, guess you calmed him down, at least,” Dean says, a towel hitched around his waist as he digs into his bag and then pulls on pants. He throws himself across his own bed, keeping his eyes on them. “If you’re done sucking face with my best friend, you wanna tell me what the hell that was all about?”

He doesn’t seem to care at all that they were kissing, just that Seth didn’t give him a head injury. There’s a lot that Roman doesn’t think he’ll ever understand about Dean Ambrose.

“I don’t really, uh, know,” Seth says, belatedly noticing his hand still fisted in Roman’s shirt and letting go. “Don’t get me wrong, I really wanted to do it.”

“Great!” Dean says, enthusiastic as anything. “You’re coming off super trustworthy here.”

“You wouldn’t trust me anyway,” says Seth. That’s kind of reasonable, actually. Dean narrows his eyes, but Seth continues, “No matter what reason I gave you, you wouldn’t believe me, and you wouldn’t trust me. I’m still the scumbag sellout that turned on you.”

Dean watches Seth, propping his head on his hand, the whir of his thoughts nearly audible. “You’re right, you are,” he says. “And I still want to beat the shit out of you every week. Can we still do that?”

“My pleasure,” Seth says, puffing himself up, and it’s Roman’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Guys,” he tries to say.

“Why’d you do it, then?” Dean asks, fire in his eyes. “Why’d you even bother? Why didn’t you put my head through those cinder blocks? I know you were dying to do it. I could see it in your beady little eyes.”

“I don’t have to tell you my reasons,” Seth says, actually leaning to look over Roman’s shoulder because he’s between Seth and Dean. “You should be _thanking_ me—“

He cuts himself off. Maybe he’s realized what Dean’s clearly realized, from the closed off look on his face, the blankness there, that that’s one of the things Seth’s been saying to Dean since he hit him with the chair. 

“Look,” says Seth, more quietly. “I know what you think. I sold out, I’d do anything to keep on top, I’d sacrifice friends, I’d sacrifice my morals. There’s some things I won’t sacrifice. There’s some people I won’t sacrifice.”

“Until the price is right,” Dean comments, dark, the entire focus of his gaze on Seth. “I get it. Roman’s your end all, be all, you’d do anything for him, even save me. I _get_ it. Trust me. I get that. But a tiger never changes his goddamn stripes, does he?”

“Guys,” Roman says, and this time they listen to him, but he doesn’t have anything else to say. They’re both right, really. Dean’s not going to trust Seth again. Dean’s not suddenly going to be Seth’s favorite person just because he’s Roman’s. There’s no way this is ever going to work. There is no way they are ever going to work with each other.

Dean once said he thought Roman could do anything if Roman put his mind to it. He feels like he’s disappointing Dean, because he can’t, he can’t make them love each other, he can’t make them be brothers again.

He hoped. He’s wished this whole time that it could work out, that it could be what it was before and they could be what they were before, but it won’t be. It can’t be.

“What are we doing here?” he asks. That’s really the question. What are they doing here? All three of them in the same room for the first time in a month and a half and nobody’s attacking anybody, and nobody’s trying to attack anybody. The atmosphere’s hardly relaxed, of course, but that’s a step. He just doesn’t know if it’s a step he can build on.

“I just completely ruined my entire career trajectory,” Seth says quietly. “I have no power. No prospects. One ally.”

“You’ve got the briefcase,” Dean pipes in. He’s sitting up against his headboard, eyes on them. Roman feels like he shouldn’t be this close to Seth, not now, not when it’s so charged and lines could be drawn in the sand. “Course, don’t think I’d recommend cashing it in any time soon.”

“Yeah, I’d figured that out for myself, actually,” Seth replies. He sets his shaky hands on his knees. “I don’t know if they’ll let me keep it. If I’m not their figurehead. Might suddenly find myself in matches where it’s on the line.”

“Rough.” Dean doesn’t exactly sound sympathetic. 

“We make good enemies,” Seth says, lifting his head to look over at Dean. “We make really good enemies.”

“We made decent friends,” Dean replies. There’s no inflection in his voice. Roman remembers when Dean had said that back in FCW, he thought he and Seth made better enemies than friends. He’d also said that whether or not he still thinks that changes daily. Roman wonders how he feels about it today.

Seth licks his lips, still watching Dean. “You can’t trust me.”

“Nope,” says Dean. He inclines his head. “I trust Roman, though. And he trusts you.”

“He shouldn’t.” Seth and Dean are just staring at each other. Roman feels like he’s been holding his breath for an hour. “I haven’t done anything to earn it.”

“And everything to prove you’re not trustworthy.” Dean has his arms folded across his chest, his fingertips tapping out a rhythm on his forearm. “You turned your back on all your fancy protection tonight. You need backup.”

Seth’s laugh doesn’t sound amused, and it moves his whole body, his elbow knocking into Roman. “You can’t seriously be suggesting that you’d be my backup,” he says. “You hate me. You _hate_ me.”

Dean frowns, then, squinting at Seth. “You’re kidding, right?” he asks. “Have you just not been paying attention?”

“What?” Seth asks. He sounds hopelessly confused. Roman doesn’t blame him. If he didn’t know Dean doesn’t hate Seth, he’d be confused, too. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re the one who hit me with the chair, not the other way around,” Dean says. “I can’t flip a switch in my head like you can, turning my brother into someone I hate. I can’t do that.”

“Well, I don’t hate you either,” Seth says defensively. Dean scoffs, and Seth insists, “I don’t. I think you’re a dick. I wanted to get back at you. I don’t hate you.”

“You wanted to get back at me?” Dean asks. Roman’s blood runs cold. He never told Dean why Seth turned on him. “What the fuck does that mean? What the hell did I do to you?”

Seth looks to Roman, who shrugs a little, wincing. “Uh,” Seth says. “Uh.”

“Good answer, that clears that up,” says Dean. “What did I fucking do to you? Seriously, I’ve been dying to know this whole time what the fuck I did to you to make you think I deserved a chair to the back.”

“It’s been pointed out to me that I might’ve, uh, been holding grudges for too long,” Seth says, rubbing the back of his neck. “In retrospect.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “Grudges?”

“From developmental,” Seth says. He’s not looking at Dean anymore. He’s not looking at Roman, either. He’s looking down at the bedspread. “You fucked me over. I didn’t like that.”

Dean’s silent for long enough that Roman wonders if he heard what Seth said. 

“You hit me with a chair and did your best to drive me insane after two years because you didn’t like the way I treated you in developmental,” Dean says flatly. “That’s your final answer. They call _me_ a lunatic and you did your best to destroy me because two years ago I was kind of a dick to you.”

“Uh,” Seth says.

Dean laughs. It’s a real laugh, too, his knees tucking up a little, his head back against the headboard, and Seth and Roman exchange glances.

“You are,” says Dean, between laughter still sneaking out between his words, “unbelievable. You are _unbelievable_.” 

“You threw my title into the crowd!” Seth exclaims.

“There’s still a dent in your briefcase the shape of my head,” Dean reminds him, and Seth makes a wordless noise that could be a disagreement or an acknowledgement.

Roman doesn’t want to interrupt. This feels like something they need to do, something they need to get out, and even then, he’s not sure it’ll fix anything. 

“It’s late,” he interjects quietly. “It’s been a long few days. We’re all tired, we’re all sore.” He turns to Seth. “You have luggage you need to get?”

Seth startles, like he’s only just remembered there’s life outside this room. “Oh. Yeah. I should probably… I should get that. My room’s on a different floor. I’m on six.”

“Probably shouldn’t go alone,” Roman murmurs, cutting a glance to Dean. Dean doesn’t look upset at the notion. Actually, he looks thoughtful.

“I’ll go with him,” he announces. Roman both was and wasn’t expecting that. Seth looks a little panicked, looking to Roman like he’s hoping Roman will deny that offer.

“Sure,” Roman agrees. He’s hoping this doesn’t turn out badly for him. He’s hoping that they don’t end up tackling each other in the elevator. He’s hoping for a lot of things. “I need a shower, anyway.”

“Please don’t do this to me,” Seth mutters, as Dean squirms off his bed, digging into his bag for a shirt to pull on.

“ _Talk_ to him,” Roman murmurs back, in Seth’s ear. Seth shivers a little. Roman likes it.

Seth still looks like he wants to be going with anybody other than Dean when Dean happily pulls him out the door, but he does go. Roman lets out a sigh and pulls his shirt off. He’s trying to cling to what Dean had said, that he thought Roman could do anything. He wants to think he could do this. He wants to think they could do this.

The shower helps soothe Roman’s nerves, at least a little. He’s still worried that he’s going to get a call from hotel security, or that Seth and Dean are going to fight off a balcony somewhere, but he’s clean, and he’s not in jeans anymore.

They’re still not back by the time Roman gets back out into the main room. He tries not to be worried about that. He doesn’t succeed.

By the time the soft _beep_ of the door opening sounds, Roman’s nearly asleep, lying on top of the covers, periodically checking the time. An hour. Two hours. Two and a half hours. He’s wondering how much it costs to bail two idiots out of jail. His head’s heavy and his eyes won’t stay open but he needs them to. 

“Shh,” he hears Seth hiss. “I think he might be asleep.”

“What a wimp,” Dean mutters, but he does keep his voice down. “It’s only three-ish.”

“You got that?”

“Yeah.”

Roman has no idea what ‘that’ is. He’s too distracted by how Seth and Dean are having a _conversation_ , back and forth, no shouting or accusations. 

“I’m gonna shower,” Seth says, still quiet. “I feel, like, crusty.”

“Gross,” Dean replies. “Yeah, go for it. Should be an extra towel under the sink.”

“Thanks.”

That’s it. No insults. No snide comments. It’s like they’re not even the same people who left earlier.

Roman hears the bathroom door close with a click, and not too long after, the shower starts.

Dean says, softly, “Not perfect. Better than it was, though.”

Roman doesn’t bother to open his eyes. “Thanks for not killing him.”

He hears Dean cough out a laugh as the bedsprings on the other bed squeak. “The things I do for you.”

They don’t say anything else. There are quiet rustling sounds as Dean fusses with his pillows and then twists trying to find a comfortable position. Then, silence except for the sound of the shower.

Roman’s not surprised when he’s nudged from near-sleep by a clean-smelling damp-haired body behind him in his bed. Seth’s forehead presses to the back of Roman’s neck, and when he breathes out, it’s warm on Roman’s back. He settles a hand on Roman’s hip, light and tentative.

“Love you,” Seth mutters, a ghost of a sentence. 

Roman thinks about how if this was another day, he’d be checking his phone for texts from Seth. Now, he has the real thing. Now, Seth is here, and it’s not perfect but it’s better than it was, and Roman moves his own arm, laces his fingers with Seth’s. He wants to turn over and kiss him, but for now, this is enough.

“Love you, too,” he replies, mostly pressed into the pillow. From the way Seth squeezes his hand, though, he understood.

The morning dawns, bright and early, and Seth’s the worst person Roman has ever known. Roman has no idea how he does it but he’s always up at practically the crack of dawn to go work out. It’s disgusting. He’s a vile human being.

“You don’t have to come with me,” Seth says when Roman tells him these things, and Roman heaves a sigh of relief, almost back to sleep by the time Seth kisses his head and heads for the door.

“Why do you _like _him?” Dean grumbles, a lump under the covers on the other bed. At this moment, Roman has to agree with the sentiment.__

__Seth brings back breakfast, though, which smells delicious and unhealthy and Roman practically inhales it._ _

__“What’re we doing today?” Dean asks from where he’s been lured out of his blanket cave by hash browns and fried eggs. “And why’d you get me fried eggs? I want scrambled.”_ _

__“You hate scrambled,” Seth comments absently. “Smackdown tonight. Are we going?”_ _

__Roman hums, chewing his mouthful of muffin. For the most part, he’s actually thinking about how easy this is. This cannot possibly be this easy. They can’t have eased back into this routine so quickly, so easily, they can’t be sitting here over eggs and bacon discussing their journey to the next show like nothing ever happened._ _

__Neither Dean nor Seth look like they’re planning on mentioning it, though, so Roman won’t, either._ _

__“I think we should be there,” Roman says, once he’s swallowed. “In case. You heard from, uh, anyone?” he asks Seth._ _

__Seth cringes. “Kind of turned my phone off,” he says. “Not looking forward to turning it back on again. You’re right, we should be there.”_ _

__“Shotgun,” say Dean lazily, pouring maple syrup on his hash browns. The man has no taste buds. “I called it, Rollins, you’re on map duty.”_ _

__“I wouldn’t let you be on map duty anyway,” Seth replies. “You got us lost in Arizona.”_ _

__“And you’re never going to let me forget it, are you?” Dean wrinkles his nose at Seth. He might also be wrinkling his nose at the taste of his maple syrup and hash browns abomination. It’s hard to tell. “Maybe I should be on driving duty. Considering I’m the only person in this room who hasn’t crashed a rental.”_ _

__He points at both of them with his syrupy fork._ _

__“Hey, if you wanna drive, feel free,” Roman comments. “That’s fine with me. You drive, and Seth can keep map duty—“_ _

__Seth squawks in protest, and goes on about how according to the _rules_ , and Roman’s better at reading the map anyway, and Seth doesn’t want to wear his reading glasses the whole car ride, and Roman listens to it with half an ear, nodding in the right places and putting on a sympathetic look that’s 110% fake._ _

__It’s just like it used to be. So much so that Roman genuinely begins to wonder, for a split second, if it was a dream._ _

__Except when Dean goes to brush his teeth, Seth shuffles closer to Roman, and tips his head up, and his lips are jam-sweet when Roman kisses them._ _

__“This isn’t as hard as I thought it’d be,” Seth admits under his breath. “But it’s also a lot harder than I thought it’d be, somehow. Trying, though.”_ _

__“I know you are.” Roman keeps his voice at the same level as Seth’s. “You are trying, though. What did you two talk about last night? What changed?”_ _

__Seth shrugs, a barely-there movement of his shoulders. “This and that,” he says vaguely. “A lot of things. We stopped and got a pizza. He wanted to put mustard on it but I didn’t let him.”_ _

__Roman can’t help the face he makes. “Good,” he replies. He wants to ask more about the this and that they discussed, but then Dean returns from his tooth brushing excursion, and they need to get back to making plans about the trip to the next city._ _

__It’s surreal, by the time they actually get to the car. On their way through the lobby, Roman had seen Dolph Ziggler, and he’d stared at the three of them for so long that another person accidentally barreled into him._ _

__Roman feels the same way. He tips Dolph a little wave before they leave the lobby._ _

__“I’m driving,” Dean announces, which is fine with Roman. He fishes the keys from his pocket and tosses them to Dean. “You,” he says, pointing at Seth. “Backseat. Map duty.”_ _

__Seth grumbles, but dips his head in agreement._ _

__“And you,” Dean continues, pointing at Roman with the keys. “Front seat. No hanky-panky happening while I’m driving.”_ _

__“Oh my god,” Roman hears Seth groan as he opens the back door of the car. “You’re the worst.”_ _

__“Yeah, back at you,” Dean says. There’s no blatant malice from either of them, so Roman allows it, closing the trunk with their suitcases inside and scooting around the car to get in the passenger side._ _

__Dean driving means Dean gets to pick the music, and his taste varies depending on the day, including some days where he absolutely refuses to turn the radio on at all for any reason. Today seems to be one of those days. He turns the car on, and then jabs at the button to turn the radio off._ _

__“Is your shoulder still fucked up?” Seth asks from the backseat. His head pops between the seats, peering at Dean. “I don’t know if I like you driving if you only have one good arm. Then again, I’m not sure I like you driving when you’ve got two good arms.”_ _

__“Good news, fuckface,” Dean says cheerfully. “My arm is not only fine, it’s better than it’s ever been, so if you get mouthy don’t think I won’t reach back and knock you one upside the head. And for the last time, there are two people in this car who have crashed rentals in the past two years, and I know neither of them’s me.”_ _

__“Alright, alright,” Seth mutters, leaning back in his seat. He’s smiling a little, though._ _

__It’s not perfect. There’s so much bad water under their bridge that they might as well build a new one, and Roman has no doubt that this camaraderie between Seth and Dean is mostly for his benefit. It’s not perfect. But it’s something. It doesn’t feel as hopeless as it did once._ _

__As the car pulls out of its space, Dean and Seth still exchanging banter as naturally as breathing, Roman feels like Superman._ _


End file.
